This Steed is a Workhorse for Death

Thousands of miles I've wandered,

Ten more in my seat of mind.

On footsteps a sighing breath,

Inhaling realistic trials.

Though actions go unanswered,

An empty problem is solved.

To walk away with dismay

Is to feel the human pulse.

Working like a rancid dog

Future's bound in sweat,

How we float, remains unknown,

When we're all filled with cement.

Work to pay your dues.

Die to pay for ground.

Even your ghost pays a toll,

Just for sticking around.