The Swamp


Eyes as big as night,

wet with tears.

A quickening storm.

A light burns bright

on the horizon.

A signal fire

guiding us home.

Weary hearts,

and minds struggling.

From the plains,

through the swamp.

We lost good people

in the morass,

and the muskeg.

Those who couldn’t see

their way though.

Never thought that it might end.

That landscape,

an endless quagmire.

We were almost unprepared

for the solid ground

of the foothills.


we arrive home.

Thin as the willows,

and musty as old poplar.

Creatures of a forsaken land,

weary of the journey.

Almost wraiths

in this November fog.

Gazes fixed

upon that fire

in the distance.

We find another step

in our procession.

Home is a wonderful thing.

There is no survival

without it.



DJR – 2023

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