I want my last words to be remembered.
I want them to be so grandiose that it is like a gunshot through future generations.
I want it to reverberate beyond the time that my mortal coil is shed
And live on in the hearts of man
I want them to be cross stitched on the pillows that line retirement homes.
I want them to be the ashes from which a revolution is born
The fertile ground from which peace may grow.
I want them to be the muse that inspires creative thought.
I want to live vicariously through those few sentences that leave my mouth alongside my last breaths, but then I think better of it.
I want my last words to be a whisper,
I want them to barely make it past my lips.
I want them to sooth hatred and calm anger.
I want them to lull the aching soul.
I want them to point the way my spirit will leave.
To the father, who is waiting for me.