It is all
But a hollow endeavor
A rouse, thoughtfully crafted
At the lowest end of night

My paths sway
In scheming hands
Before swarms
Who starve for peril

It is all
A half-hearted effort
A derailed excursion
Fated to dwell
In the folds of rust

To steadily fade
Into exhaustion’s snares
Where full reveries
Ought to remain