The Marsh
i know how the marshes smell,
used to have the smell of fish and mud
untouched by the body of a boat,
a wooden boat
definitely without the noise of the machine
and the gun
and the bearded men that carry the guns
less the children
and their mothers who have never come
and stayed an inch deep in the water
i have gone there once
i was a virgin, a fresh mind like the lily
of the marsh
i was the pure air of the lilies, i breathe
and they breathe with me
until i become like some of the bearded men
who come with the noise of the machine
and the guns
i do not like the smell of the marshes now
there are dead bodies of children and women
and unaccounted men
rotten, time and the waters finally buried them
less the usual ritual
of good men.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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