Not unlike quicksand

Accidentally stepping in

Endangers the entrapped

To a fate of almost certain death

Suffocation likely

In this sinkhole of filth

Oily

Decayed

Putrid

Like discovering you are neck deep

In a thick swamp

Of rotting bodies

Mixing with the debris

Of the only perilous ground

You are allowed to try to stand on

Because the good stuff is reserved for better folk

So you grab what you can salvage

The good that drowns here helpless

Long ago abandoning

Any hope of salvation

All the weight that you can carry

Fingers aching in agony

As you strain not to lose the grasp

Of what you are determined to drag from that quagmire

Each step

Slippery

Unsure

But you hold on to your load

Some resist

Some cling

But the truth marches on

Strained red skin on your face

Showing through the filth caked upon you

From just being where you were always told never to go

Sweat and blood mixes with the unfathomable

And sometimes with the grace of God

The struggle lands a foothold

And all that you hang onto now stands on solid ground

Eyes blinded by lies they learned to believe long ago

Can now see the light

And all that you toiled to free

No longer roils in the muck

But enjoys the green grass and flowers of a Spring day

You stand there for a moment

And dive right back in