Buried

if I were to discover Gold-

 

the beginning remains a riddle.

possibly panning in a river,

but this seems overly naïve.

how would I find a product so precious-

in something that creates      consistent      currents?

 

perhaps the secret lies in unscathed land;

within the untouched, superficial floors.

my perfectly polished hands

            plunge the spade into the cold-hardened ground.

 

 

I can no longer leave this place -

 

Now, all from above that can be seen is a glimpse of light,

            peeking through the darkened clarity

I have dug deeply around myself.

 

the more I dig,

            the more my hands become ravaged,

                        plagued with broken callouses.

                                    never stopping,            only enduring.

 

                                                I bury myself into this pit,

                                                            hoping that what I will soon discover -  

                                                                        will cure the pain that was caused to get here.

 

but I cannot stop where the Gold is.

This poem is about: 
Me

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