Stir the waters, though they be troubled with the mud of years,
Perhaps there still yet lingers some monster at their depths,
But be that as it may, this placid pool of tumbled tears,
Is yours and yours alone upon which to reflect, 
Watch the swirling coils of oil that twist upon its surface, 
Like the eyes of dragons that stare into your soul, 
And though you know that from the banks your vision is imperfect,
Know also, from the depths that the dragons see you whole,
And in these murky waters, Know that you must bathe, 
And from this troubled pool, Know that you must drink, 
And pray the serpents see your need and your disturbance is forgave, 
As you break the surface tension and step down from the brink,
For the waters run deep and currents deeper still, 
And their icy chill reaches up and steals your breath, 
And to plunge your head beneath takes an act of purest will,
But will is all you have, when all sensation's left,
And naked, Numb and shivering, your strokes will push you on,
Until its very essence seeps deep into your pores,
And to your very core until all fear is gone, 
And you accept the waters and the monsters and the fears are all yours.