There's a darkness growing shadows,
like tendrils from a plant,
with wicked thoughts of discontent
and ill intentioned words like "can't."

You say that there's a place you're going;
a place you once called home.
But do houses stand the test of time
while streams around them flow?

I never thought I'd meet you
beyond the scope of centered thought,
but here you stand before me
and I know that I've been caught.

I won't ask for your forgiveness.
Nor compassion, love nor hope.
I only ask to be met as a man
drawn out with the undertow.