Private Paradise

The coins, all of them old and worn, are there,
And so are the books, in neat stacks,
Some read, others simply bought.
Things, objects, sundry items,
Some I have acquired, some given to me,
Some hanging around long after their due.
Thoughts, imagination, pleasant memories
That always follow me, yet have no need to be
Shared with anyone else alive.
Staring into a moonlit night, at the end of another day,
Weary and tired, yet longing to read some more.
One day closer to eternity, yet excited for the possibility of another day,
Before it becomes merely another among all those I have thus far lived.
Gazing on the unhappy state of affairs in the world.
Greed, inequality, despair, bitterness, loneliness;
The masses of suffering people longing simply to be loved.
Longing to leave my legacy,
To make my mark, to serve others, to be a helper and a friend.
This, it must be said, will do for now.
In my private paradise, my soul is at rest, though my body be weary.
And all is well and right.