It's Over

I wondered in my shallow years how I would know it was time to die. My youth marked it the least of my fears but now I know, I confess with a sigh. There is a bothering in the bones they seem too wear-weary at the core. The mind, too, signals aberrant tones the time is nigh, Reaper’s at the door. Then there is a flickering in the breast like the flame of a candle burning low. The signs read as one: eternal rest. Grudgingly, I conceive it’s time to go. What I wondered in my shallow years my body now exhibits in carnality grim. Leaving behind all I love brings tears Will anyone ask, “What became of him?”