This is not the poem I set out to write.

Sometimes, some days, these days
I'm scared of dying.
Not of death, but of time lost.
And so I can't let a single moment
Slip by unseen, unfilled, unspent.
And so I cannot rest or cease or stop
For fear that sleep, that peace cannot
Be,
Only means a moment fallen short of fulfillment-
A sleepy Sunday saved for naught.
(Someones oft said, "I'll sleep when I'm dead.")
And so I run and go and do
And plot and plan and spend...
So I can safely say,
"I'm happy,"
(Or so busy I think I am, must be)
If this should ever be the end.
And some may say,
"She lived it to the full."
Carpe diem,
Or so they say.
(But this soul's not as young as it once was.)
"Seize the day."
*Sigh*
What a way
To die.