Mince-me-et

There is a limit to my patience, to what I can and cannot do.

Of which is testimony to the seemingly ceaseless threshold that yields in time to come, I speak not of that which has the horizon of, say, zilch.

Many a time have I cowered, bowed and convinced myself of such.

The slate grates in mind, plying in this hutch.

Where once the munchkin danced with piddling inertia, a new line will be now be drawn.