Retrace your steps
Using the blood you have shed
As the markers of your trail.
Does the iron embedded within
Signify the strength of spirit
Lost over eras upon epochs of time?
There is but one source
Upon which will and worth
Can become transfused.
Location is a moot point.
Equipment need not be utilized.
As a son of Israel,
The backtracking to this bank
Of barricaded brawn
Be only bound by bars
Surrounding underestimated areas
Of this shrine called the brain
Containing the altar that is the mind.
The cobwebs reflect a morbid shade,
But once exterminated,
The gray does not matter.
The quest for replenished nutrition
Requires no movement at all,
But if obtained
You will be moved.
This is the point of return:
A return to peace felt by sleeping infants
And a return to knowledge that never vanished
Nor appeared out of thin air.
In the end,
You will see
That your pure soul
Has never been tainted
For you are still there
To acknowledge its existence.

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