Marching

In the deepest darkness
of the deepest jungle
he marched towards his forward mark.

The vines slithered about his ankles
and the trees whispered through their leaves.

He stayed steadfast in the thick heat
while the parasites sucked him dry.

A bough broke on
the highest tree
and smashed him
to
the
ground.

He called out in pain.

His call
was absorbed
by the darkness.

In the bleakest oblivion
of the bleakest depth
he marched towards his distant goal.

The dust engulfed his skin
and the silence crawled through his feeling.

He stayed steadfast in the grey void
while the echoes drove him insane.

A cry rang out
from the horizon
and broke his
soul
to
pieces.

He called out in loss.

His call
was absorbed
by the darkness.

In the meekest despondency
of the meekest desert
he marched towards his wavering post.

The sands scorched his skin
and the sky dried his eyes.

He stayed steadfast in the miserable infinity
while the winds made him hollow.

A trickle of sweat
rolled down his face
and caused him
to
give
in.

He called out in defeat.

His call
was absorbed
by the darkness.