Mire

If you have lived with the mud up 

over your hips

over your lips

then you know that the worst part

is when you wonder 

if the time has come

to stop fighting.

All about me 

the bridges have been destroyed 

I am mired

in a field of the dying

where the fallen rage against me

because I cannot help them.

This is not a place 

where I can surrender 

if my hands are trapped

then I will bite them off

I can write poetry

as long as I still have a tongue.

I hope that someone 

is coming back 

to lift me up

from the crevasse

because this is the kind of field

where you start to make bargains 

with demons.

I have

outmaneuvered the darkness

by bringing my own demons

with me

at least I have

company.