My head is heavy, my shoulders burdened. My worries weigh a ton, and my bothers bog me down. Life moves slowly along as I wade through the swamp. A swamp where I cannot see the end, and the beginning too is out of sight. This march is endless, it strains me. I am tired, my breath escapes me. Heavy. Heavy. Heavy. The load is heavy. A little more, and I would not bear. The end is never near, to hope I would not dare. How far is the road to liberty, my feet are worn and cannot hold. I struggle to move against the mud, like pushing against a stone. I move an inch by the hour, and the scenery does not change. I sigh and I pant, then I pant and I sigh. How much more do I have to go, against life’s tall obstacles. The knolls are high, and the valleys deep. The bush is thick and the roots hinder me. They trip me, and they hurt me. How long before I can lay down my jars, with burdens to the brim. Weary. Weary. Weary. My soul is weary.
Johnston
