deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Dig
Up and down, pick striking ground,
The digging never ends.
Shoveling the hurt away like dirt,
What, truly, ever mends?
The treasure buried, a smile ferried
Long ago across the Styx…
Resilience lands, but blistered hands,
‘Top the woe such dream inflicts.
A lifelong quest, enough to test
The limits of resolve…
I yet dig on, my penance drawn
In watching dream dissolve.
Till foundation aches, and the soul quakes,
Raising that pick one more time…
With all strength held, still yet compelled
To gift voice to this mime.
And so I plunge into the grunge
Of emotion, infantile…
A man yet stirred by hope deferred
‘The ever elusive smile.
The world still turns— the soul still burns,
Eyes glow mad in the dark…
Ambition razed, I stand, unfazed,
Having not yet reached my mark.
The days pass long ‘twixt woe and wrong—
The nights nearing forever,
And still I dig… and dig… and dig.
There’ll be no stopping… ever!
Till bloodied palms and quaking psalms
In dark mist die away…
As the smile, unfound, curses the ground
Where the stricken soul lay.
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