consumed, swallowed, submerged

perpetually bogged down and stumped,

at his wits last end 

with no end to be seen in the near distant future

lest he traverses far from this place

try as he may to emerge

to move forward,

like cinder blocks rested on shoulders 

and feet long settled in slow drying cement,

all movement hindered,

all progress blocked

caring not for morality when passing,

passing those that may slow his progress

yet he stops just ahead of them

as if on a queue with red velvet ropes and al

lhe stops to sharpen his knife

the blade was dull

 the meek stomped out,
superseded, swept aside as if crumbs on floor

is justice blind?

or is he simply blind to justice?

is he held back?or 

is he simply afraid to move further?

unwilling to transcend?

yet content  crawl along the surface

slither in this place

 knowing full well

there is more

fully capable of transcendence

capable of a great migration

yet he morbidly remains 

remains in the marsh

in the bog of eternal sameness

will he remain in obscurity ever-long?

finding his comfort in chaos,

comfort in his discomfort

dissing, shunning comfort 

it seems inconceivable to those the likes of he

he's an expert in his trade

experienced, 

competent and eligible

yet still, 

he seems unqualified to use that jargon.