Before the brow grows cold

lazy bones, bound in poverty’s grip in a garden, where hesitation weeds grow~ filled with s t r a n g l e d d e l i c a c i e s… a recipe of wisdom, never tasted couched like a fly in an endless stupor… abandoned in a ship, lost in the doldrums~ in a dark tunnel, where echoes slowly f a d i n g doomed to sail a sinking ship with no lifeboat yet your arms can still push a boulder uphill~ so put your shoulder to the wheel... never stop, reach the mountain's peak sharpen the saw, dig for gold, tame white horses~ while sweat streams down your brow for once you're interred in a grave with nothing to illuminate the darkness mountain of your strength will only enrich the grains of sand... and fork in the road will give you no direction to choose you'll just be lost in the maze... like a deer in a headlight as confused as a dog watching a magic trick