Spent

I'm spent. I've worked so hard these past few days
That I have nothing left to conjure with.
I know you think I'm magic, but the pith
With which I speak is only verbal haze
Designed to fool small children and amaze
Small minds. I'm like a veteran goldsmith,
Constructing models of a monolith
Built by a man whom time itself obeys.

I sigh, but even sighs can have a cost,
So each breath can become a marathon,
A test of whether life may carry on
Without the air. My breath has turned to frost.
I tell you that I'm spent, all meaning's lost:
A moment's breath, and sighs themselves are gone.