Will Not To Be

I imagine I had set a date for my own death.

I had garnered assistance and support.

I had convinced experts and committees.

I had made my case.

I had been given green light.

I assume time would start to race.

So much left to do.

So much left to think.

So much left to feel.

Then,

When everything was arranged,

When the day was there,

Last preparations underway,

What would prevail?

Would it be fear, regret?

Or gratitude, relief?

Or numbness rather, muffling the dread

Of the inevitable?

Now swallow.

Get through with it.

My will.