Trapped In a Swamp of My Own Creation

My nighttime world Brought on by dreams and nightmares Subconscious fantasies Hidden away by the day’s light I wander through it with no guide No path to lead my way Only dimly lit by a waning moon A dark green swamp Moss hanging from shaded Cyprus trees Like the hair of an ancient hag Destined to exist in this world Murky brown water stands stagnant Beneath a slowly shifting grey fog Snakes droop from low lying branches Blending into the foliage around them Waiting for something to pass by They hiss and snap Issuing a warning to all who listen I am the only one who hears Maybe if I listen hard enough I may find my way out when the sun rises But I know that that cold moonlight The light of the waning moon Grey and cold Lacking shadows or definition Will once again trap me Hold me in a world of my own creation And my hope will die And I’ll become part of my own subconscious fantasy Never to again escape Trapped in that dark green swamp Swallowed by the hanging moss And I will just simply cease to be The question is Does it matter to anyone but me?