Bad Lands

There is a spring in the bad lands.
I remember water infused with strength.
Crystal shine, pure.
Cold. Frozen.

Celebrated as a true believer, gloating
hypocrites baptized me. In the bad lands,
that spring.
I became a disciple.

They hid the truth.
They hid their demons,
They hid in the deep.
They blamed me.

Crystal cool heaven,
consume me.
Please let me swim,
down below.

I need to go.
I just want to see.
I am a zealot.
I need to know where it is, the entrance to
the under.

Photo Credit: h.koppdelaney Flickr via Compfight cc