Mining

Reads: 142  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
When the loving love the loveless, the heart must retreat. Failing to do so can drive even the most strong-willed into a state of utter madness.

Submitted: January 07, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 07, 2013

A A A

A A A


Thinking of you.
I've got my head in the clouds.
Decapitated by their silver lining.
I've got my head in my hands.
Dropped; a glorified torso stands.
Acephalous, and here I am mining.
Digging with a broken shovel.
Chiseling with a pickaxe handle.
Eyesight upside-down, crooked, spinning.
On the ground my vision sees no progress.
Blood sluggishly runs down my face
as I fall into an even darker place.

From one loose stone,
the definition of futile has let itself be known.
You're an impenetrable mountain.
Mining.
Looking for a beacon,
a sign:
your heart wedged in the rough.
No promise shown.
Faith.
Loyalty.
Persistence.
I can see enough will never be enough.
Mining.
You and I.
I want us to be in love.
Dining:
Rats, spiders, bats filling in the blank,
as this cave becomes more dank.
You should be here,
not my worst fear.
Mining.
Searching for what once was.
Finding myself in a lost cause.
I thought I was full of optimism.
Turns out I'm just pining.

Hushed ears.
Quiet goes the birdsong.
Crushed years.
My heart's canary dead on its back.
I've been excavating for too long.
Arduous labour for love, your love to be exact.
Relinquished tools. Empty handed.
I endure partially eroded while you remain intact.
Fruitless effort ripened.
All my enthusiasm syphoned.
There is nothing left to extract.

Headlamp flickers.
Light goes out.
Mining in the dark.
Clawing.
Scratching.
No spark.
No fingernails.
Bloody fingerprints smear their mark.
Fractured fingers given too much to embark.
And with nowhere else to start,
I'm believing your infatuation for me never had a heart.

The mine begins to shake.
I stop. Sit. Give up.
Loving you is deadening.
With my head in my hands
I don't know where I'm heading.
However,
as I wait for this expected collapse,
I do know,
that anywhere beats mining headless
for a love that never existed in the first place.

Underneath a thousand tonnes of rubble,
with my head in my hands
I am a man that stands.

©Bradley~2012


© Copyright 2017 Empyre. All rights reserved.

Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by Empyre

The Whisper Of Flesh

Poem / Poetry

Mining

Poem / Poetry

Abandon The Vagabondage

Poem / Poetry

Popular Tags