Inspired by some lost souls who seek pleasure in the pain of others, Swamp Thing was a product of confusion, sadness and isolation. Everybody has low points in their lives, some lower than others. The trick to life is to help each and every human within your power of doing so. If someone's having a bad day, raise their spirits and hand over your time, as there's nothing more valuable than that. If someone is having a good day and you aren't, don't bring them down to your pit of wallowing. Don't be a Swamp Thing -

I may not be the fastest, but surely I am moving.

The crumbling road I leave behind shows that I’m improving.

All the while I’m up and down, biding time and stalling.

Am I stumbling up the hill or am I really falling?

In due time I will find a way to make it stop.

I'll watch the hands, black and fast, clasp the frozen clock.

Retiring from the rabbit-hole to snatch the endless view.

I lift my head and kill the tread of worn and wearied shoes.

The boundless land rolling forth, an unveiling jilted path.

Obscuring vast uncertainty, to a jungled mangrove bath.

Grasses of green flank the banks with writhing roots of red.

Wiggling tendrilled icebergs, that caress the sunken bed.

For a moment it was tranquil until the water was disturbed.

There are no fish in this body, and no wind to be heard.

Spiking reeds crackle and snap, struggling for their purchase.

Against the bulking creature that penetrates the surface.

A scale-studded tail coils like a flame’s flicker.

Crushing ancient branches, and weaving them like wicker.

Bursting from beneath the marsh, a towering serpent spire.

Bloodshot-eyed, grinning wide, lurched over the mire.

Ear-piercing laughter tears the fabric of my soul.

Drowned in starless darkness, tar-cocooned coal.

With a water-logged rasp and a gurgle of a drain.

The sounds twist into words and those words into pain.

Cruel jibes that will spew and spit in my spite.

Tounge-twisting taunts, wholly blackened with blight.

This verbal defilement is much worse than violence.

Not a wound on my skin, yet I suffer in silence.

The beast ends its piece and heavingly gasps for air.

Peering down upon me, hoping that I care.

Should I laugh? Should I cry? Say something witty?

The only thing I bring myself to do is feel pity.

Look at this sad creature, alone in the grove.

Insecure and isolated, all it does is loath.

It sees me on my shores knowing nothing of my land.

Forever I'll be walking free and it doesn’t understand.

I used to be a Swamp Thing once, everyone has before.

A place of burning bridges, one’s you can’t restore.

Though no matter the situation, my path carried on.

I changed for the better, it’s me I learned that from.

I’m love, I’m life, I’m struggle, I’m strife.

I’m imperfect, like you. I’m not lying, it’s true.

Then, it stared blankly. Glazing over for a while.

One tear rolled down its cheek, and connected with its smile.

“Thank you.” It whispers, finally contented.

And with a splashing of the tail, back down it descended.

Kade Baker

19 ‎January ‎2023