My Graveyard of Death
How often do we bury ourselves alive without even knowing it?
I used to imagine myself digging to find buried treasure
So, when I grew up, I became an Archaeologist
The power of the shovel hitting that first layer of dirt
The control of my hands as I lifted it back out
There was nothing quite like it
Eventually I hear a clink of rock or metal
Eyes bright and brain buzzing with ideas
I would find history and be so grateful to hold it in my hands
That sound reminded me to stop and look.
But as the years dragged on, I kept digging
Digging my own hole, and my own grave continued to grow
Whatever passion my eyes once held were dimmed to gray
My brain focused on one thing only; to keep digging
Determined to find the treasure buried at the bottom
Not realizing I was burying myself alive.
Those clinks of my shovel bouncing off the rocks fell on deaf ears
What was that old saying? Keep digging to find the diamonds, don’t give up just before the miracle?
That’s what I believed I was doing
My hands had become worn with blisters, raw
Face muddied and haggard
Until the piles of dirt above me came collapsing down upon me
Dirt filling my tomb; of my own creation
I had reached rock bottom long ago
But refused to stop
So, there I lay in my earthly coffin
Hoping I would rest in peace.
How many of us buried ourselves alive?
Left to our own devices to rot in the graves we dug
In that moment a wave of peace washed over me
Finally
My wish had been granted
Death came to me long after I quit searching for him
He stood on the edge of my grave with a heavy heart
I watched him shake his head
But with compassion, as a loving parent does when their child makes a mistake
For Death knows the price of mistakes more than any soul.
While I was buried within my grave
I waited for the moment of sweet release
But Death refused to take me
His shed a single tear and whispered to me
I came here to take a living soul, but I see none
I see a soul who ceased living long ago
It is not my place to take you
Having no words left to speak
He turned and sliced the ground, the dirt scattering around my grave
With soil up to my neck, I had been saved, but remain trapped
On my rotting soul, I cursed Death.
Excerpt from my upcoming book,
Link to my newly published book The Gifts of Life
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09L3YWLT2?ref_=pe_3052080_397514860
About the Creator
Matthew Mccahey
I want to use stories and life experiences to allow others to be open about their own.
https://linktr.ee/Authormack729
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