Lair of comfort

Too late for new beginnings,
Why does it seem a frivolous, meaningless life?
Values awash on a shore of pinings,
Short of comfort for breathing.

Today meant zilch,
Life wasted on a constant, unmoving warp,
Of time and unstoppable tide,
Over daft indifference and spent moments.

Riding on a carefree draft,
Feet screeched a halt at the comforter’s lair.
Shackles awaited their touch with coldness,
To engulf and numb a surviving soul.

Privilege it seemed for a while,
Soon to turn a point blank,
For there were no greater impediments,
Than those that slaved to cut a master’s moves.

As dawn arrived, a new hope lit up within,
Would it end today, stop now?
Answering them was a hollow echo;
For there was no one left to hear,
In a deaf and deserted town called heart.