He died, just like that! Brutal fact.
A life of action finished finally, trapped immobile, in body passed its sell by.
The timing was not his, but the setting, how he would have wished.
Not for him the rhythmical buzz of the morphine drive.
Nor the metallic taste of death, clinging to the throat, stinging the eyes.
For when the mind grows weak or cynical, weary of this world.
Death is a blessing, bestowed on us all.