Life of the bog is what you make of it you see.
The sticky sands that drag you below will never cease.
Nor the snakes looking to share their poison with the vain.
Glades have no need for your worry or pain, they will go on.
There are those who relish to revive with those bogs depths.
To start a new from the quagmire that this all has become.
No blame for the leach that yearns to take what you have.
The bottoms just repeat their cycle with or without you.
Floods come and clear the waters but never the troubles.
Those who live there must sink and sulk or build up high.
Flush of skin can be a sign of rash, so can sinking quick.
© Jeph Rants
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