The task at hand consumes you
until it fades into the obscurity of completion-
then another quest arises from the legions in your mind
and replaces its predecessor like a new born disease.
Chained to the wheel of the grind, you gladly turn the mill-
as it shreds away the years of your life.
Enchantment lies at the peripheral of your vision
but you disregard it as a withering cadaver-
for all is child’s play besides the toils you preform.
A self-proclaimed laborer until the day you die
but you are already dead.