And off to the bog again,
with sprained step and bated breath.
To wend and wade through water,
that will not recall my name
Crickets creak and crackle
Fireflies flick and sparkle
This nightly scene comes alive,
this smear becomes a speckle.
The muddy marsh will not let me resign,
and the murky mire will always remind,
me of a lively voice, a touch of warmth,
a peace only your lips could describe..
Could this swamp simply swallow it all?
Regrets, doubts and mistakes of yore,
words unsung, dreams that knew no sun?
Can oblivion amount to hope?
As long as the sky can shed its daily dark,
as long as I can tread though this blotch of black,
I vow unto this void and I declare,
that I shall continue my trudging march.