Saturday, May 2, 2015


The deeper into the mine, the further we sink
Consumed by dense, black fog at our feet
Moving past the point of no return
With only enough rope to wrap around our necks

Whether we want it or not, bereft of any choice
We are urged to press on
As sense of free will is but a distant memory

We make use of tools at our disposal
To clear the way to what lies beyond
Gallons of sweat on our thickly-veined temples
Cast off and turn into tar

We hit the rock
We hit the bottom
We swing and swing
And ache and ache

Cold iron becomes a match to the obsidian eye
A match that burns whenever it's struck
Little, little head brimming with light
Displaying shreds of torn purpose

Thousands of strikes and thousands of fires
But no oxygen to sustain their lives
Enough nothing to put an end to every one of them
And forget their misunderstood cycles

When time comes it all turns undone
A sudden collapse, unforseen collision
Unexpected, as always, by the man in the dark
His senses dulled by the promise of a find

Why was this path chosen, chosen yet again?
Why shirk away from the lonely surface?
Whether we were pushed by someone
Or have we pushed ourselves
We are all drawn toward the mine

We dig a hole
We dig a tunnel
Walk into our own grave
Meet the same senseless end
Over and over

With torch and pickaxe in hand
A pack of matches, dust-covered clothes
And only enough rope to wrap around our necks
We dig

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