The Debt Collector

Oh woe is me by candlelight
my body cold in awful plight
yet through this mire
as heroes might
I struggle as scribe
into the night

and why you may ask
do you write not sleep?
the answer is simple:
to earn my keep

to whom do you owe such deathly debt?
to myself I say
and it will be kept

for mine is the debt of wasted days
of complacency
and lazy haze
so now I toil
blood sweat and tears
for one to many wasted years