My toes sink into the cold sand.
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Each step's another syllable.
A reminder of the frail cuffs,
held tight, in my bare icy palms
that binds my heart as a laborer
and drains my soul of its coffers.
Pride prevailed as the sword of blame;
it mistook itself without shame.
It cast a shadow without hope,
a golden rope of sully fell
onto a ship of broken fools.
A drunken stupor of soiled grapes
laid rest to test a promised land.
Yet, in daylight the arbor's seen,
where the trellis truss keeps my dreams,
and nothing's as bad as it seems.