My engine sputters
Through the thick sludge
Of tireless voices

I sink to my knees
Weary and overcome
Fully immersed
In the fog of daily labor

Onward I cry
As I wade
And inch toward silence

Yet dying screams
Are all I can conjure
As food for the muck
The foe of my eager treads

High noon
Pries away
My rusted and mangled form

Hoisting me high
Away from the clutches
Of havoc and pillaging disarray

The spawn
Of lumbering voices
Who yearn
To render me hollow