:: Boy In Corner ::

:: Saturday, May 17, 2003 ::

Bogged

Mossy tendons tying me up,
Brambles of worries and fears snagging onto my thoughts,
Barbs piercing and gripping my brain.
The acridic swampy soup slowly digesting my consciousness,
As the stress bears down upon me.
A dark shadow spreading across the landscape of my mind,
The dark visage of failure,
Once agains fills my eyes, haunting me,
Stalking me,
Flashing nightmarish visions on the inside of my eyelids,
Dragging me down as I dream.

I trudge through the muck with clarity a goal,
Motivation to triumph over unfavoring odds,
All my money on the wounded, gimping horse,
A tarnished stallion trying to survive the wretched marsh.
His feet pulling against the sucking black mud suffocating each hoof,
Muscles straining to fight the bog,
Muscles raging to stay aloft, raging to keep it's head out of the muck and grime.
Muscles fighting fatigue and bloody wounds, infernal internal hurdles to jump.

I watch inpatiently, urging the horse to fight it's way through the bog,
Pleading for the horse to continue its fight, to stay strong,
To never give up.
My own digestion pushed aside as the gunk and grime diverts its attention to the beast at hand,
Currently a torent of resistance against its murky grip.
My heart skips a beat as the horse slips and falters, knee buckling and swallowed by the sludge.
But the horse remains determined, and a fire lights in his eye,
And I am comforted by the single gleam of hope burning deep inside both of us.
Hope is all I have.
And hope is all I need.

:: Rick Kitagawa 2:15 AM [+] ::
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