Digging

It’s like digging out of an avalanche,

nothing but darkness and cold,

suffocating under the shear weight.

Trying, to make the arms and legs work,

moving tons of debris away seeking light.

Each hole I punch out, fills again,

each handful I grab gets only heavier.

The act of digging is emotionally debilitating,

I want to just rest, to close my eyes,

allow the dark and cold to overtake.

If only my mind would let go of the thoughts,

that litter the landscape of the interior.

Looking at the road, seeing the past,

wondering about the future, living in the present,

the rustle of dry leaves underfoot, crunching.

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