Will the mirk dry out?

Here my path starts,
straight into an overflowing  ditch,
further down the horizon
is lost in the mirk,
black waters mirror dark branches,
no light to tell
the branches’ ending.

I call on the powers of
water, earth and fire
to clear my air,
to fill my lungs.
Let me merge
with the wild wood,
to remember this body,
lost to its purpose.

Nothing,
no,
something stirs
and looks to the forest
slowly radiating with
an ancient presence…

The Horned One
heeds my call

and tells me to be
patient.

Sun will heal the cold,
earth will root new strength
and water will make me
forget
the world…

I will one day
erect a stone
in memory
of my path…