Speckles of dust dwindle in front of me
An artificial fog flourishing,
adrift, afloat
Leaves dance around my feet
It is dusk, it is dawn
Blurred eyes cannot tell time
Forces of nature gather underneath my body
Hunched over headfirst
I wail - caught by nature's grasp
Stinging thorns
It is close, it is far
The fog obscuring my path
The ground collapses into a boiling stream
Pulls me to the ground (pulls me downwards)
I question the ever moving stream of water
Reaching for the nearest stone
It is true, it is false
Dead men cannot speak
Drowned men do not tell a tale
But beyond the grave that lies
At the end of the path