The enviable living — a poem

Even as my eyelids close
Heavy with sleep
Heavy with memory,
Inside still alights
That fuel, acrid or
Perhaps, even
Ambrosial.

Whose emissions
Can help others
Rather than hurt them.

It doesn’t clog lungs,
Expands them instead.
Wouldn’t it be nice,
To leave this world one day
And say
My outputs matched my inputs,
Or even,
My outputs were
irrelevant to my inputs?

You received all of me
Regardless,
And the best of me always,
And I loved you
And told you so.