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The Nehalem runs through a discordant land

Curling, threading through mountains,

The place forsakes and is forsaken

Lush aura and scent belie dystonic power under root

A man may toil here but to one purpose and for one result

The sight of a trestle can only be an illusion

Minds and ambitions rupture with no measurable impedance

The road is muddied with ash and organic elements

Flood water washes away nothing,

Bacteria flourishes among the detritus

Relics' holy presence declared,

Solutions through acacian means for one result

The liar synthesist prophesied his death

And left a sign among the waste