A Setting Dawn

Funny how I do feel like a pawn,
before this now setting dawn.
Each day over before it has begun,
eclipsed by a forever waning sun.

Just another creature of the night,
sealed in tight within the write,
treading water in all of this ink,
struggling hard to not again sink.

For I have lived a life spent dying,
despite all this perpetual trying,
all of this grasping at straws,
while the curtain slowly draws.

Rolling the same rock up this hill,
documenting it all with this quill,
empty words on hollow lines,
forever tangling as feral vines.

And yet... this seems to be my fate,
as I once more now pontificate,
muse about the day to come,
despite the despair from which I come.