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My Graveyard of Death

How often do we bury ourselves alive without even knowing it?

By Matthew MccaheyPublished 2 years ago 2 min read
5
My Graveyard of Death
Photo by Zach Lezniewicz on Unsplash

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

sad poetry
5

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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