A Night in the Swamp
Things disappear here,
deep in the black water swamp.
Land. Boats. People. Especially people
go in and don’t come back,
lost in the twists and turns,
in the black water and gnarly cypress knees.
None meaning to of course.
All so naively confident they could find their way out,
Until, of course, they could not.
Until the time came and the murkiness
begins to look like truth, and truth becomes lost,
and the darkness approaches
and you are lost.
About this poem.
A poem about swamps. A poem about mental and emotional illnesses, left untreated . Half autobiographical. (I found my way out of both at one time or another.)
The picture was taken in the Blackwater Swamp in Surry County, Virginia.