Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er.
--Macbeth, Act III, scene iv
The water looks clean and cool
Light scintillating against my skull
A volcanic lake with no bottom
The fear is somehow palpable
Tribes here were cannibals
Nearby was a judging stone
Where criminals were dismembered
Their body parts thrown from boats
Sinking into the ghostly depths
A carpet of bone somewhere down there
The force of this history carved
Into the faces of locals like templates
And they prevent me stepping
Into the cooling water
Storm clouds gather overhead
All I can do is blankly stare
Into the clear blue water of the lake
© shaun patrick green 2014
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