An Art of Breathing

What loathesome burden wears your weary heart a trinket on a cold and hoary hand? And in its dark tide drowns the cheery part to keep you bound, a pet, upon its strand? Without a keel, alone and sad, unmanned to sail the main and brave the tempest storm; it claims the fairer part with stark demand, and wails its horrid knell upon reform. Stand now and rend the pall that kept you warm and stagnant to the early morning light. Cast out the deaf'ning rage of crushing swarm and air the sweetness of your bitter plight. Release your deathly grip on this disease, And from your fingers let it fly the breeze.