Roots

Tell me Can a tree without roots Ever bear fruit? Tell me Can a ship without sails Ever make haste in the boundless sea? Death creeps, cloying Knotted garters frayed Under the sea the sirens wail Forgotten, ignored But for the ones who live on The feet do drag on Swollen, septic, deeply forlorn For those of us who are aware Who live in a world; awake Be sure to spare a thought For us lowly wretched Hope exists of course There must be light for shadows But fruit does surely rot Make haste, the eye of the needle continues to narrow