One More Inch

“The Dwarves delved too greedily and too deep. You know what they awoke in the darkness of Khazad-dum…”  ~ Saruman the White
 Lord of the Rings:The Two Towers by J.R.R.Tolkien

You dig freely for a while and the mud is cool and pleasing to your fingers and 

you may worry a little about the grime being packed under your nails but its still okay
and it’s easy and it’s fun…
and then the soft  gradually gives way to the hard scrabbling and you think
you should want to give up
but there is something
something you are positive you can find
something hidden?
something lost
one more inch
one more inch
And then you are in too deep and the sky is contracting
but there is a chance that you are almost there
one more inch 
one more…
And then you are past the possible,
and what you are bringing up and holding in your hands does not bear looking at too closely,
and the temperature is rising,
and the steam is in your eyes,
and the trickle down your back 
you pray,
is just the heat.
Even as your hands are burning you suddenly remember what it was you buried here
and the reason
and a last coherent thought trails into the steam;
one more inch
one more inch
The buried never stay that way
and the welcome back is never Mayberry-styled,
never just hospitable and sweetly gently warm.
The way back is harsh and hard and merciless, stomach dropped swift.
It burns,
it scourges,
and recognition has burst like a sonic boom inside your head;
too late.
As your clawed hands, panicked and misshapen, 
weakly try to push it down.
But instead you are pulled
one more inch 
one more inch

About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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