Barren Wasteland

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.

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