Thrid Quater poem 2, retreat paragraph style poem

Cattail hands reaching in the valley of death. Arms link; rope bridges to repentance. Sobs heave abandoning rhythm; Sounds like the book of life. Mighty thunder from above blinds us from the swamp beneath our feet, who wander here below. One too many shadows blink and flicker, there to trick, there to lie. In the valley of twisted truth, of every days' deceit, far beneath the heavens, I fear no evil. You walk with me through those who walk together for You.