The Swamplands

Back to the swamplands.
Back. Back, I say.
Back to where you and nature first kissed.
Back. Back, I say.
Back to where you will not be missed.

And you dart past the warning sign,
Pretending you saw it not.
Lies, lies, lies you’ve been fed.
Now you know better than to stop.

Yes, you’ve been fed sweet secrets
And lard-laden lies,
Twisted truths trumpeting inside your twisted head.
But enough, enough, enough of that noise
Scream your burning thighs.

And the river is your only friend,
Babbling gossip as she runs by your side.
Rushing and gushing and fuming
About the verisimilitude you’ve been hoodwinked by.

Back to the swamplands.
Back. Back, I say.
Back to where you started, I insist.
Back. Back, I say.
Back to where you will not be missed.

And the trees gather round
As the slithering tendrils close in.
Stolid supporters of your resolve
While the vines scathe your skin.

Yes, a chorus of ethereal whispers
Assaults your wind-broken ears
As the pad, pad, padding of your feet
Sets the cadence of this dryads’ lyric,
A beat for the devil’s incorporeal jeers.

A chuckle at your jiggling thighs,
A chortle at your gut.
A snicker, a snigger, a sniggle 
As you worry, calculate, and plot.

Back to the swamplands.
Back. Back, I say.
Back hidden among fog and mist.
Back. Back, I say.
Back to where you will never be missed.

Abruptly you stop at the edge of a pond
Stagnant with reason, reeking of sanity.
In your path this murky bed of truth lies,
And about-face your heels turn, spurred on by deathly vanity’s sighs.

Darkness grows near
As the sun begins to set.
Fear heightens.  Obsession consumes.
And you continue running, running, running
Until you’re certain all who know will forget.

This is the land of madness,
But still, you are content
Resigning to your fate, your destiny, and your doom
Vowing never to return from whence you were sent.

Back to the swamplands.
Back. Back, I say.
Back to the site of your first ugly tryst.
Back. Back, I say.
Back to where you will not ever be missed.