Exit, Stage Left by Robert L. Penick

My mad sprint across so many calendars
will end one day. Likely I will see it
coming from kilometers away:
The fall to the worn carpet,
ragged breathing,
staring at a fixed point until
it collapses like a star and disappears.

I will go out with a schoolboy's smirk
upon my face, knowing the birds
will chirp and carry on each spring
and the great wheel of pain
will roll on without my frail shoulder
guiding it. Hearts will beat
bright as cardinals while
big monster life stamps in circles
and I lie vacant
in my grave.