Swampgods

Prompt is below
100 word maximum
Two entries allowed - can be a poem that was already written as long as it fits (somehow.)  

Prompt:

Swampgods by Carrie Lorig

I can see dark things through the envelope you gave me.

At some point, the weatherman is going to say something
about the crooked movement of your legs east.

These boots make me think
you’d make an awful swampgod.

Once the water is heavy enough,
coins will breathe near the surface again.

My sister has the good hands,
and I got the bathtub claws.

Any other beast would’ve given up on pond rings by now.

Drowning in darkness
My failed breathing
Has ceased all bodily movement
Is this the end...all there was to it

Seven lights blind these closing eyelids
Blurry but i can see the outline of what is glowing
Cloaked monsters with white eyes venture closer
To walk in water above no surface...Swampgods

To take my life I presume
I close my eyes to accept my suffering
Instead I awake floating in Nothingness
Swampgods encircled around me

They reach out there claws and all touched me at once
My heart violently pulsed and eyelids suddenly rose
I clench my hand into fist only to pick up dirt
The pain has ceased and I now lay amongst earth

I stared at the river to see the swampgods standing on the water
I yelled and screamed “why…for what purpose”
I could hear the distant cries of my name coming near
Unanswered the swampgods sunk below the surface

Etamine's rush

A heartbeat to a sudden rush
she now at a sudden hush
a venomous kiss in the vein
a nymph that escapes my grasp again

a lonely prayer for the sick and weak
a lifeless soul i shall keep
dropping to my knees i screamed:
'Etamine's body still so pure, can her soul be redeemed?'

I can see what i have to do
i now have to find that rush too
now my heartbeat to a sudden rush
at last, i shall be at a sudden hush.

[font=Courier New][size=2]
                  < eyes >

     Those rooster-red relics of your eyes,
     fevered, stare sightless from the moor.
     Never frugal nor predictable,
     they only need the music of the storm
     to dance to the flurry of the wind again.

     While the wind dances,
     those rooster-red relics of your eyes,
     fevered, stare sightless from the moor.  
     They feel the flurry of the wind,
     never frugal or predictable,
     you, dancing in the storm again.

     Never frugal or predictable,
     those rooster-red relics of your eyes,
     fevered, stare sightless from your moor.
     Then, with the music of the storm,
     dance, to the flurry of the wind again.

                   - - -

Fertile Soil

History repeats
Dredged up from the mire behind our eyes
In faith of fingerprints left in the mud
below the deep waters of our wants

Each Savior a symbol
of the need and hunger of the system we feed
A fallen tree reclaimed by soft earth
First Mother feeding her young to her young
As the vibrant colors of snakes come slithering our way

The vicious and opaque thoughts of these ignorant gods
Taken back into the deep
To where history repeats
Until each life has its chance to live and die
in service to the gods of the swamp

The Muffling Of The Drum        (SP Summerscales)

The low muffling
of the drum
the shackled shuffling
has just begun
the eerie clinking
were all sinking
its time to on yourself
point the gun  
the sea under shelf
has just risen
the fallen one
is sure to come
the overwhelm
of an under realm
Demon's man the helm
along with Satan
they try to teach  
through the rigor to reach
so I  beseech  
don't go off wiith them
where the flames of hell
they choke and swell
only for to fell and
replace the sun  
the beast he stands
he holds out reptile hands  
to summon up the sands
in a poisoned  ocean
your times over
the swamp god is coming
no more earthly
mother
hell has  
just begun .

Hahahahah!  This ended 2 and a half years ago and I get the trophy now?  Awesome.  It was a privilege as always but definitely an unexpected one.