Home in the Swamp
Swamp House
Winter hung on longer than expected
Fog drifted in slowly
Gray became the color of the day
Against the contrast of rotten yellow grasses
That should have been cut last fall
I arrived only last October
The smell of autumn in the air
Colored leaves dancing in the breeze
Crisp cold rushing in from the Bay
I awaited Spring with my usual enthusiasm
Looking out for the first sign of green
Buds on trees, blades from bulbs
Yet only this grayness and rain filled the air
The ants came in silent armies as if to taunt me
Outside the sound of frogs and buzzing things
Add to the hum of the heavy night
The places I looked for grasses are mud
The gardens are old and unkempt
The place that looked in winter as if it had been sleeping
In fact it was dead
Long ago, overtaken by this swamp
And here I stand
In a house that floats on a bedrock of mud
Disembodied voices echoing through my window each night
A mile away, I feel the sun’s warmth and spring days
Yet, nothing gets in to my house in the swamp.
What am I to do now?
When my mood is so closely tied to my surroundings
And it seems to be draining the life out of me?
Am I really chained to this house forever,
As it seems to be trying to make me believe?
Am I trapped here now in this beautiful house
That sits on a land, so dark and cursed
Because of the choices I made already?
Or can I run far away, again toward the sun
And only take with me what I need
Surrender the rest to this house and the swamp
Who seem to want a piece of me
If I am ever to break free.
