The Marsh Poem by Holly Heron

The marsh that I stand before shall yet soon be my end,
It's murky waters my destroyer,
The marsh grass my captor,
And how I yearn with such passion to step into my grave,
My heart holds back,
My feet don't move,
And my eyes soon well with tears,
O why may I not step down to join my lover there?
Will peace not take my mind and heart,
To lie with him and share his fate?
His horrid fate, he did not bring yet did unto himself,
In throws of jealousy,
A jelousy so strong that iron bars would bend before him,
With just a single poisonous glance.
Yet I did nothing to provoke him,
For provoke him how could I?
Those thoughts pierce like daggers through my mind,
And I would say my loving heart,
If my heart still held it's fire and beat within my chest,
Instead it sits embedded there,
Like some frozen jewel,
Nay, not a jewel but an elven palace forever beyond a mortals grasp.
For all he heard were rumours,
And rumours undid him,
He took a walk in the morning mist,
And enshrouded by it in his anger forgot,
Forgot where he was stepping,
Forgot what to do,
He stepped into this murderous marsh,
Now shall it take me too?