Decay'd

Fatigue is another type of terror,
Breathless fear

Conscious body stopped in its own error

Rest. My cry is rest. O Lord!
Who made all that cold hands may touch and feel,
Made also this, which I fill each day, my tent
Before its weakness all the strong must kneel
Crooked arms exposed, proud backs also bent.
Betrayal! have many men cried, sensing
What they, blinded, are too afraid to own
Before such a foe their necks twist, tensing
Dust it is, ground deep to carbon-made bone
I will live forever! Forever! I
Will! But she falters, my poor man bitter
And dead alike is earth his only tie
Born dirty, a man in bitch's litter

I rust. Endless is the world ended, burning back
One fallen task.

Tire.