Old friend, come take thy rest

Oft I have wondered, Of how dear death will rid me of this load burdensome. When I cast my gaze upon his cold face, And he, with a wistful smile, fulfills his righteous due. Will it agoinize my weary soul, As a poniard through the heart? Mayhaps it will be assuaging to my spent self. Like the gentle waves against the hull, after an odyssey through the churned seas. Ah! To feel death's bleak embrace, And relish in his unfeeling shadow. To behold death as an old companion, And willfully follow him to the underside of the dirt. I shall marvel at the reaper's scythe. Aye, revel in the shivers of his numbing breath. When he whispers to me, " Old friend, come, take thy rest." In the chambers 'neath the soil, where silence eternally reigns.