Your will is waned as soul is weakened, slain;
Your heart never has rest ergo, my boy.
And if your mind’s maimed since work’s gone in vain,
You have forgotten each plot, lost the ploy.
Remember you are no more soft or coy,
For your softness has been damaged, coyness wound
With thoughts that shall make, not once destroy
Your days that you say are numbered and bound.
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Is it not time for your will to be found,
And must you not break free of those lines
That have stalled your spirit, made you no hound,
Obscuring all precious yet obvious signs?
Now you shall give yourself some food for thought,
Perhaps dwell on the lines that have been wrought.
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