Digging A Hole

I’ve been digging this hole every night for the last three weeks,

I wipe away the dirt and dust from my sweating cheeks.

It never seems to be enough, the constant urge to go deeper, to go wider;

My shovel’s blade, the true decider.

A cloud surrounds my very mind, dense fog settling on thought and reason;

The cold, dry wind pricks my skin, welcoming in the new Fall season.

I’m not sure why the feeling persists, or why I must keep going deeper;

But the walls of the hole are getting steeper.

The rocks and the clay are crumbling down,

Like a wave in which I could never drown.

The pace, the speed, the backbreaking work,

The monsters of fear and uncertainty lurk.

The sky above, once bright and blue,

Now sits silent, a darker hue.

But still my hands must reach their goal,

To continue on, and dig this hole.