I Make My Bed Poem by Adams King

Darkness slowly vanquishes day
Once a noon with rays of brilliance now turns into a Stygian night

On my face are the wrinkles of time
On my flesh are tattoos of hardship
Eyes with the blurriness of age

Its time, its time to go home
The sweet prepared paradise
Made by the hands of my Father

I'm sad to leave you my love
Though you've served no perfect joy but I can't escape natures wrath

I will miss your morning dews
I will miss your bright sunshine
Your redroses and blue violets

I will miss your festivals
Your beautiful sons and daughters
And meals of great sumptuousness

Its hard to leave you I must confess
Tears running down my face like a cheetah's tribal mark

I make my bed to lie and rest
Though willing is the spirit but weak is the wrinkled flesh

I'm close to my destination
And no amount of emotion can take me back or keep me longer

When I peep through my windows
I can see the picture of home
Where life is but a bunch of joy

For now you can weep and wail
But we shall meet someday
where you will never weep again