Pushing then till strength is spent,
Trembling, the arms find trembles more,
Final strength is found like flecks of gold,
Amidst the sand through which I wade,
Against myself, ever scorning gravity,
That pins me down, fastens all my seams,
Making muscles stew to fuller force.

My eyes are tired,
Why do they seem to chastise me,
I barely even refuse sleep,
But simply tally at the thoughts of bed,
For waking is much better, see?
But my eyes... they really do chastise,
For I often seem to stretch the day,
When rather I should tuck it up,
The light behind my tired eyes.