I have. I will not.

I have outlived senators
and sycophants.
Pennymen and paupers alike.

I have outtraveled the
traveling salesmen.
Boeings and briefcases perpetually
aloft through the night.

I have out breathed the great
lungs of the redwood tree.
Stalks and stems no longer vaulted
from mother's bosom.

I have out stepped the rugged
soldiers of our nation.
Who no longer wake to reveille.

I have out blinked the lumens
of the mighty metropolis.
Scrape the heavens they do no more.

I have outgroaned the spans as
they sway to the wind.
No longer connect the valleys and gorge.

But I have not outshone the stars,
burning brilliantly in the ether.

And I will not outlive the heavens,
black opal beautiful, above the sky.

That Time of Day

It's that time of day
when the rotors sway
Lights on, wake up
No hip, hip hooray.

Back to sleep.
Back to sleep!
We do have work
today...

But wait, one moment
It's that time!
When beneath my sheets
a temperature so fine.

Not too hot.
Not too cold.
Like the third bowl of porridge.
Something to behold!

Just five more minutes
Then, I will get up!
But, five turns to ten.
Ten to twenty,
with a bit of luck...

Last One In

What is this,
What is this?!

My frontal lobe
does seem amiss.

A day of telephone,
a correspondence drone.

Has numbed the mind,
oh daily grind.

The freeway awaits,
taillights and gates,

Glowing till home,
low engine groan.

Welcome mat rests below,
Palm trees sway to and fro.

Temporal then eases,
no more coughs and sneezes.

Parietal obviously next,
after a day of being vexed.

Occipital last, not least,
ending the day's synaptic feast.

What is this?
What is this?!

Some call it sleep.
Hopefully, quite deep.