Yearn for Eternal Rest
Oh, what a grand and glorious bore,
This mortal treadmill, evermore!
I wake to stretch my aching spine,
And check the hour-hand’s slow decline.
The coffee drips, the toaster pops,
The endless cycle never stops.
I stare into the steaming brew,
And ask, “Is this all I must do?”
To work, to spend, to earn, to buy,
To fold my laundry, smile, and sigh;
To dodge the traffic, check the mail,
And watch my fragile savings fail.
Oh, how my weary, heavy head,
Doth plot its coup against the bed!
I dream of sweet, unending sleep,
Where no appointments make me weep.
No meetings shouting through the screen,
No bosses asking what I mean.
No spam arriving by the score,
No salespeople at the door.
Just silence, vast and deep and wide,
With nothing more to hide or hide.
No bills to pay, no weight to lose,
From no devastating news to choose.
The poets rave of starry skies,
Of love and light and butterflies.
But give me just the quiet tomb,
A most accommodating room!
No chattering birds at morning’s break,
No sudden reasons to awake.
Just horizontal, still, and flat,
I’d gladly trade my soul for that.
Let others sprint to claim the prize,
And scale the peaks to reach the skies.
Let politicians rant and rave,
I’d rather plan a cozy cave.
A plot of dirt, devoid of stress,
My singular, sublime address.
No traffic jams, no queues in hell,
Just undisturbed, eternal rest.
Let kingdoms fall and empires rust,
And all our grand designs turn to dust,
I shall not care, nor drop a tear,
For I won’t know—and wouldn’t hear.
Oh, slumber’s sweet, unbroken chain,
My one defense against the strain!
I look upon the peaceful deep,
And long to join the endless sleep.
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