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?
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