Little Swamp

This little swamp
I’m standing in

is called the Belief.

That rock sticking up
above the dark, rooty water
is, I think, called the Truth.
I’m afraid of stepping onto it
as I might slip
and drown.

But I’m a man,
or so I’ve been told, and
should be utterly unafraid
to get dirty and wet when crossing
from Belief to Truth. So
what’s my story:

I’m happy in Belief
and threatened by Truth?
Or maybe 

I’ve got the labels
crossed, and I’m sinking 

in Truth and am reasonably avoiding
putting my trust in Belief?
Or do I not Believe
there is such a thing as Truth
and that’s not 
a good foothold I’m seeing
but instead is
a Lie? Or is it that

the little swamp
is a little swamp,

and the rock is a rock,
and all the dirty water
I am standing in is filth
and stink, all the names
I give them are the script 
for how I pretend to thrive,
and this dithering on and on
about changing where I stand
is the national anthem
of my country of birth?

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

One response to “Little Swamp

  • Eileen

    My hero is the Apostle Thomas. He wasn’t deluded abut how things were going to turn out like the others were. But he recognized and valued goodness and true freedom, so with open eyes he accepted the cost. That’s faith to me. And faith and reason are two sides of the same coin and even though they exist in a paradoxical tension, they always dance best together.

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