Nestled in the folds of joints,
Encumbered in sweat's chilling kiss,
Chains of toil inscribe a mark,
At promise of receding bliss,

Tarry long as wooden men,
Enfoil the walk in toil thereon,
'Ware glancing at your fuller arms,
Hold nothing else and gaze upon,

If pace become too dear a friend,
Feast full upon your strength instead,
Consume yourself with polished wood,
Now dare not glance within your head,

To see the lasting sapphire forged in toil,
Who needs eternal rocks beyond the chains?
Come, join me in my levity!
Turn back from all toil's truer gains,

Quick! close your eyes to wind and rain!
Why hope when all the world's in pain?
Shut neat the blinds and deafen ears-
At once He's here: the truest terror and joy.

Dry cereals,
And the crunch resounds more real than reality,
And it's arid grasp seems to scatters through my body,
Like a tempest, and I'm driven to a little shake,
A sour face, for things not sour but milkless,
And a little water heralds it's incompletion.