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This poem is in response to my dear friend, Blackfanged Leopard's "Elation and the Fall"
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Ah but what is life when one is only a worm, Stuck in the ground, in darkness eternal. When one looks up, he sees naught. Struck again and agaian, ashes infernal.
When he looks left, he sees more dirt. Even then, he knows he's less than that. Eating the dirt, excreting dirt back again. Filled with the bare minimum to survive, nothing but that.
When he turns right, he sees a carcass. Perhaps of a lone squirrel, lost raccoon. Looking down, he remembers: he is but a worm. Filled with tiny organs that wouldn't feed but a fly, nothing but that.
When he looks up, he may see the sun. But he knows, somehow, despite his love for the light. If he stays out too long, as he did before. He would be a dried-up husk, nothing but that.
He looks behind, leaving holes in the ground. Long tunnels of his anguish, filled with blood and tears. Shedding layers and layers of memories, the past. Unorganized lines of death and decay, quickly overlooked.
Filled back by the uncaring earth, life. Though every day goes as planned, every sleep awakened with another gift. Gift of life, but is it truly? Is it a gift when one lives because one fears death, Not because one values life so much?
Maybe he'll dig down this time, towards the center of the earth. Filled with molten rocks. Burning quite unlike his heart. Maybe then, the heat will spark his heart to feel again. Maybe then, his heart would beat, just once. Before the fiery, thankful, end.
Thank you all for reading, comments are welcome.
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