A gasp for air
That isn’t there
I drown in the muck and stew.

A job undone
Afraid to run
The race without breath or shoe.

 

So still I sit
Resigned to quit
A sluggard too frail to feed.

My hand in chains
The meal remains
The dish will not quench my need.

 

The God of fools
Who break the rules
Is napping inside the boat.

A ship unmanned
Sails past dry land
Adrift in the storm I float.

 

From dusk till dawn
I stretch and yawn
As destiny rolls along.

The drive to thrive
From nine to five
Reserved for the stalwart strong.

 

And at the end
When souls contend
For crowns from beyond the grave,

Will angels cry
And fill the sky
With tears for this weary knave?