A Poem

I used to be a pretty avid poet, but I haven't written anything for over a year. The other night I was at work, watching a man with what we call "terminal restlessness," who kept trying to crawl out of bed. I had to hover over him like that because he had already succeeded once, a few days earlier, and nearly broke his neck! His family had expressed how they wished he would just move on, and some of the staff as well. I was thinking about this as I watched him, and these words just sort of came to me. Hope you like it, if not, let me know. Either way, feedback will be appreciated.

Wanderlust

Please, go quietly into your goodnight.
If you've spent it well, or ill, it's spent.
Your youth, your prime, your time is over,
We, the living, though we loved you,
Do not wish to love much longer.

As our patience passes away, you delay.
A moment of concerted effort only
Is all we can spare from our busy day;
For, the present is our master, lonely.

And though we would heal, forgive past offenses,
Make amends, tie-up loose ends,
And part with you on good terms, with sweet tears,
We must content ourselves with the bitter:
There are bills to pay, and appearances to make.

Perhaps there's a reason why old, oriental men
Leave home to wander, beg, pray, and die
Without a ceremony-- To spend their last day
Under the gaze of strangers, or, nobody.

Maybe this is why you are anxious, confused, restless:
Because this is no longer your world?
You belong to the woodlands, to the wilderness,
To the deserted temples and wastelands.
They call to you, to come add your bones to theirs'.

I would let you go, but for my guilt and fear,
And there are laws against that sort of thing here.

So I plead, go quickly, do not tarry;
For, life no longer makes you happy.
When you're gone, we'll think better of you.
Legacy is the key, and it lives after life.