Will-o-wisps are living’s bane
the bright lights that promise much
an escape from the pain
in the swamp beyond safe paths
when clearest road is overgrown
with cruel brambles none may see
except the one who always bleeds
seeking something beyond that way.

The flickering orb is always there
though the hills may block the eye
and the trees mask the fire
held by revenants of misdeed
a respite is wonderful
no star of doom seen in the moor
then the rays return in force
whispering words of dooming hope.

Bearings are already lost
set adrift by mind’s turmoil
sanity slipped from its leash
when chasing imps seems prudent
the shame seeks to meet its own
despair contained will break loose
running from the light of day
to find the trace of false aid.

Baptism in the darkest pools
washing anguish from the soul
this is the promise of the flame
quick to shine before it kills
the will-o-wisp becomes a pal
an ally none should befriend
when the road becomes a path
then to despair, lured to death.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170925.