I’ve waded for too long through the bog

Through its sickly bile

Through its envious slime

That stalls all wanderers  

–

I’ve waded for too long

To its secreted isle,

Blossoming bright

In colorful defiance

–

I’ve waded for too long

To my true port of call

Where my old roots splintered

In the pitch-black soil

–

They’re alive with the verses

Held tight within the grave,

Snarled with the final breaths

Of fellow heartsick travelers