Florin Lacatus Poet Free verse

When I grow weary

And when I grow weary 
of the final road, 
I will let my steps walk on 
alone, 
like dogs tired of their chains, 
seeking a patch of soft grass 
in which to forget me.

And when I grow weary 
of the last silence, 
I will spit my words into dust, 
like bitter seeds 
that will never sprout 
again.

And when I grow weary 
of the last wound, 
I will draw with its blood 
an inverted cross on the wall, 
so that God may know 
I played to the end 
at being a man.

And when I grow weary 
of the last moment, 
I will wrap it 
in a dirty handkerchief, 
and press it to my chest, 
like a poor gift 
for whoever comes after me 
to search for traces of life 
in the ash left behind.

And when I grow weary 
of the last breath,
I will fall asleep 
with my forehead 
on Death's chest, 
as though it had been 
my only true pillow.

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