A perpetual residue collects into a steaming cesspool
Bogs of caked mud and dirtied foliage wrap around like a tentacle
Increasing in pressure, its victim close to suffocation
Wearily I ventured in, hand pressed to my mouth
Only to discover it was not you I stepped into
But rather, myself.
The days dragged on, the vicious cycle of continuity
The circle of death, we renamed the song
But then one day a hand reached in, clean, untouched
I wondered who’d dare enter this lightless place
This hand, it called my name.
Shocked I looked up from my stance
Crouched on the ground eating bugs
I placed my dirty palm in this foreign hand
And instantly something had changed
The hand gently but firmly pulled me
Out from my pool I woefully called home.
A man, he embraced me, despite my dirt
And his love did melt my hard heart
Like a puddle I crumbled onto the ground
As he wiped away every tear
And as he did I looked down and saw
I was wearing a clean white robe.
Thus began my new life away
From the bogs of the deep I once did stay
The love that has been planted firmly in me
I will plant into another broken seed.
And so this is the story of how I began
My journey back to the barren wasteland
To reach out to those that I know still reside
That not know the joy it is to abide.