temerarious

somehow we chose
a marathon in marshland
squelching in morass
temerarious we leap
and never look
certain we'll alight
on dry land
impervious to the suck
pulling down to drown
the less quick
into quicksand

but once the gun's
shot has rung
we can't stop
lest we also drop
pulled into muck
stuck

those few who
cross this way
may get there first
but for where and for what

had we only paused
before the race begun
picked a longer path
on firmer ground
we may have come later
to the what and where
but at least we'd be certain
it would get us there