The Swamp Of Unseen Faces Poem by Christopher R. Kennedy

Between beams of soggy sun,
Streaked by the shades of weeping gray trees,
And trapped between walls of ice-cold mud and
Gray grass and twigs like green, jagged skeletons,
You might glimpse the Swamp of Unseen Faces.

If glare with your salt-stung eyes at this sorry sight,
If you squint through silver pillows of ghost cloak fog
And glassy green reflections of shadowy trees and a sun
Squeezed of brightness,
If you place clammy hands on goosebump-bony knees,
And peer into the water, you will see…
Faces.

Drifting…floating…seeing with lifeless eyes,
One pair of drab inanimate eyes might slide over to you,
Not seeing with marble eyes wide open.
You see no hope in those idle pupils,
No light,
No love,
No life.
Then they turn away to stare at a lifeless sun.

Gradually the light drains from your heart—the feeling.
Those terrible dead waters pull you in,
So softly and gently that your cold ankles are already
Licked by chilly, dank waters.
You are tired.
You are gray.
You are…lifeless.

Maybe those black and white water color clouds pull apart.
A distant sun reaches down and touches your face.
The color—the life—the hope will come back.
And soon you feel some paper-thin hands.
They stroke your color—your life—your hope.
They try to grab on, but they just fade.
They just fade.
They just fade.

Even if you plunge your hands into those icy gray waters,
You cannot retrieve them.
They just fade.
They just fade, and you turn away to the sun.