lotuses in the swamp

I guess it was a swamp
full of the muck of yesteryear
ideas and notions of proper behavior
brown and drooping soggy plants
these habitual thought patterns of mine
puritanical grim determination to fail heroically

and sure, there is no way to the happy forest,
that goes around the swamp,
eventually, trudging through the bogginess
is the work that lies between me

and the free open pastures of not me...

or...
maybe, this one step at a time manuever, wearing my
maine hunting shoes, half rubberized for the mud
is a dance in itself, not something to be avoided

jumping from one little grass hill to the next
concentrating on landing cleanly
laughing at my seriousness,
and really guffawing over flimsy futuristic fantasies...

free open pastures indeed!
What could be better than an endless swamp
on a muddy spring day!

Ah, let's play!
Let's get really muddy!
Gooey, slimy, oh so grimy!

hmmmmmmmm,
who needs the higher ground?