The Bog

Physical ailments usurp from her brains fog,

Sleeping sunken in her belly rests the bog.

Watery reeds tangle around her toes,

Her mantra of wretched thoughts feels empowered and grows.

She is a beast, besotted with distraction,

Stunned with self disgust her words lie dormant, stale, laced with impaction.

She is a creature, mute with cowardice,

Refusing to listen to his rationality having devoured hers.

Familiar yet faceless, it seductively saunters.

"Please", she cries - "lock up your daughters".

For, although she runs merrily, behind her silken vail,

When it slips, they are there, poised to inhale.

His hand awaits patiently with inevitability and love,

His penetrating persistence implores her sobs.

But, he was not put on this earth for her maintaining.

And despite her guilt the moon continues its waning.