Pool of creation
Those tentacles have taken hold of me
I flounder and struggle to keep afloat
With head held just above water
I give life to a torturous ode.
Deeper into the quagmire, the wild weeds entice
A lotus folds its petals, trapping exploring limbs inside
Overhanging boughs of wizened trees rake my upturned face
In the writhing throes of creation, I straighten the twisted lies.
Between the miasmic plains and myth-infested forest
This marsh has been the grave for many muse lovers
They hang on to frail roots, unwilling to be prey
Yet destined to be swallowed by mires of churning whey.
Open- jawed alligators sniff at ornate poetic skulls
Gazing fascinated-at fools who brave a dip into hell!