You demand that I join you, up there in the sunlit uplands
Your voice echoing down to my dark pit,
This pool of mud between two high cliffs.
Waist-deep, unable to move,
Except to sink further, how am I to climb out –
I am too wearisome.
To lift a leg is to expire,
To raise my voice too exhausting,
So I know the choking mud shall rise to my neck.
And then it shall consume me,
In the darkness between these cliffs –
In filth I mark my grave.