Gravedigger

They smell like earth, every last one of them.
Of course, being down there for so long, you
Should kind of expect it.
You ever had anything look at you without eyes?
Most of them have lost them by now. The fact
They are walking is a miracle, if you would call
Any of this an act of God.
Act of something, but not God. No. Something
Worse. They stare at me, six feet below them,
Their expressions emotionless and pitiless.
Then, slowly, one of them grabs a shovel and
Begins the process.
It will take a while to fill it in. Longer than most
mourners would like to think. They will
Finish the job though. That I am sure of.
A gravedigger should never skimp on the
Detailed work.
Earth as cold as snow fills in around me, all of
Them looking at me with their dead sockets.
The night chill sinks into my bones, running
Up my spine, as I wish against wishing I had
Spent less time finishing up this grave.