By each callous day, waking neglects colour.
My eyes see black - pitched, vast and endless.
Every step I earn, learns a new monster.
My scabs and tears, each felt by their fingers.

The spirit I own, chafed thin breath by breath.
The air that we share - a sharp yoke on my back.
"The light's just ahead", says its voice abreast.
If not my drowning sight, my feet would have led.