In The Mire Poem by George Samuel

Not safe in the mire,
Where the greens grows and expire,
Having eyes to see in deep waters,
The sanctuary perverse in dark alters,
The hands that made them falters.

No feet is found, no moving,
Standing in the mire and sinking,
Lost here and for all eternity,
In the mire is found precious entity,
Of bones ceased in vanity.

No wine or whining comes true,
But sinking right down the blue,
With the mind still beating,
About unccomplished desires heating,
No dreams in the mire keep thinking.

No helping hand is found,
Or a chance of a last wish abound,
Where the downward part falls forever,
And the voices void of cheers,
Shall countenance you with dark tears.