How I want to die,
Is with a smile on my face.
Not for I have lived a glorious life,
Not for I have a fulfilling one.
Not for the people I have met and forgotten,
Not for yet others whose company I have not begotten.
Not even for all the smiles I have bestowed upon the world,
Not for those I have had grace me in return.
Not for all the fantastical adventures I have been taken on
By many a pen or my own mind's song.
Naught matter the petty victories in cheap duels,
Nor do the pretty faces and scented lapels.
But for I am happy in that moment, I am,
As I lay in tender arms,
With long fingers that comb through what's left of mine hair.
For I see the happiness in those faded eyes,
As they look back to see me smiling,
Or perhaps simply because, in my mind, I'm listening to Frederic Chopin.