It's time
Working through an end makes me certain: when it’s time, I want to be prepared. I will want nothing — no more burdens, no leftovers, no tasks — still there.
When it’s time, I want to be prepared, no unfiled forms, no unturned stone — no leftovers, no tasks still there — the weight left on those I leave alone.
No unfiled forms, no unturned stone will my drum-beat pulse maintain; the weight left on those I leave alone still falls on them amidst the pain.
Will my drum-beat pulse maintain to see the fruit to harvest borne still falls on them amidst the pain, to taste its goodness on the dawning morn?
To see the fruit to harvest borne, to hope for revelation’s day, to taste its goodness on the dawning morn when this world ends, and kills decay.
To hope for revelation’s day working through an end makes me certain: when this world ends, and kills decay I will want nothing; no more burdens.