And as the last thickets of trees die off,
The pass opens to reveal a fetid bog,
The layers of sediment building up,
Should you walk, you’ll sink, forever stuck.
-
It looks as if a storm just passed,
The fog and drizzle will now last,
The dark pines and oaks seem so far away now,
They cast a knowing presence upon this cradle,
This open tomb so endlessly hungers,
The mist, a blanket, completely covers,
It would seem a normal swamp
But in its depths lies only rot.
-
No path trodden or trail here lay
No somber road to lead the way,
Just all things broken to walk astray,
The nights are darkness, the days are gray.
Each sticky, dismal, and frigid eve,
Can one hear the faintest tease,
The promise of someone on the breeze,
Someone left bleeding, to grieve,
Open, bloodshot eyes do stare,
Upon a sooty, blackened mare
Plague’s mount here now does feed on air,
Upon your weakened body shared
By the pain and suffering spent
Across a lifetime of regret
Of each an every prayer sent,
Of all the silence returned with lament,
The putrid ground reeks cold and stale,
Between the thunder and mighty gales,
All sentiment gone, your bones are frail,
Each memory forgotten, tortured, failed,
Each acrid breath you come to take
Just seems to be another mistake,
As if happiness is fake,
Think of every step to make,
Of wanting to rest your tired eyes,
Of your longing protests, your weary cries,
Your voice fails you, mouth so dry,
You cannot even begin to cry,
Stretching on for countless miles,
The surrounding stench so vain and vile,
Is has of yet to offer guile,
If only you could rest a while,
Here creatures lurk with fang-ed teeth
They seek upon you to bend and creep,
Escape, escape, impossible feat,
Admirable, stupid, succumb to defeat,
Trudging on, “woe is me”
An army of one wishing victory,
I’ll allow you hope to find solace in the trees,
But I promise, you will never be free