Hard Harvest

May I always be different,
Difficult,
Defiant, to the last.
I want to give the Reaper a hard harvest-
Where he's sharpened his scythe time after time,
Strolled down to the field, to find
His services have been declined.
Elsewise, what a wasted opportunity- what a crime!-
To live my life predictably as all the others,
Right down to when my life-light gutters.

Let there be the easy way, the hard way, and my way.
Safety third!- after I've had my say!
After I dare and deviate and snatch it back,
So that when I hit the final crack
Of doom, it's as familiar as he
Who shows up, swinging his scythe for me.

I want to give the Reaper a hard harvest.
I know he who laughs last, laughs best,
And, of course, he'll laugh last;
But I'd have him laugh in amazement at our past:
"I can't believe you survived all that craziness-
I never knew what you'd think of next-
Don't have many long-term customers in my business,"
He'll laugh at last, and give me his best.