It has troubled me from the start,
Following every moment, basking in a shade.
To what do I owe the swamp? From which I came,
It calls in voices familiar.
In troubles that are so linear,
that unto the beast that haunts the thoughts,
I vanquish with a drop, here and there I call unto others,
but truly the battle is inward, does God wish it so?
Or is it fate, or just a universal joke?
So the lights are bright, it is of course a delight,
To bask in that shadow, which haunts with me,
to form another thought, one bright, not of fear,
So let me light a torch in sincere, to be another,
Formed from that crack that broke, but a burden of truth
Upon others, what else is there? but to delight, that there is