Thorny vines strangled their way out of cavities in the ground,
to lethargic vision, almost throbbing;
a verdant abscess.
Exposed roots weaved in and out of pit walls
like dolphins restricted to the waterway of a canal,
trapped.
I solemnly grit my teeth,
sorrow and anger bearing a bastard child without name.
This was land?
Flared nostrils bit the sickly scent of soggy leaves.
Had the winds wept sometime during my lost sojourn?
Flogging forward,
the landscape persists.
Keeping the wind at my back,
my only direction,
even on ground.
Endless creviced overgrowth...
we've been here before.
The wind's running me in circles.
Routing myself against it, exactly,
would yield only the same result.
Through warm, aching eyelids
the inevitable realization leaked
out as streamed consciousness:
I must bear my own way.
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