Mangled Miles of Beleaguered Back-roads

Out tumbled one heavy chain
Groaning with the weight peculiar to regret,
Borne low by a gnawing pain 
Accompanied by ample malaise:
One snared in a self-made net.
A staunch feeling woven of facts,
Old, new and incorrigible,
Hoarded to build looming stacks
That may quiver and waver but stand 
"Because the Will is too feeble."
So the chain sloughs away, clanking 
Like the abrasive sound of this feeling,
Creaking of those days of shirking 
Of all the things that Mustn't be shirked;
Ergo, they haunt the gloom till come gloaming. 
So the moon emerges while also lurking
Behind regrets, inherently persistent 
Of which folly is the setting 
And we are stupider today than tomorrow,
Today being merely yesterday's glazed dent. 
And so turns the riddled wheel of wheels
Time and time and time again,
Forging new links at tomorrow's heels,
Forming while fuming away, singing 
Resentment at self in sweet refrain.