Swallowed By The Earth

In the swallowing silence of the under,

where earth gulps down shadowed sighs,

I find myself a reluctant resident in the depths,

a cavernous echo of what was.

The ground breaks beneath me, not with a crack, but a sigh, soft and sinking,

a slow devouring dance of dirt and root,

engulfing me, pulling me inward, downward,

into the cool, dark womb of isolation.

Here, in the clutch of loamy hands,

I am cradled by a cold comfort.

Life's relentless parade of pain and parting

presses heavy upon my chest,

an unseen weight, invisible yet crushing.

Each heartbeat is a drum of dread,

resonating through the vastness of the caverns,

a reminder of connections severed,

of those who came close,

close enough to whisper, close enough to wound;

and then retreated, leaving echoes

in their wake that haunt like ghosts.

The walls around me tighten,

a geological grip that mocks

the empty embrace of solitude.

Afraid to love, for love is a door

that swings only outward,

ushering out those I dare to hold.

Yet, fear of the final solitude clings to me,

a familiar foe.

Death does not scare me;

it is but a quiet friend in the waiting.

But to greet her alone,

that is the fear that festers.

The earth whispers of eternity,

of bones mingled with the roots of ancient oaks,

of being forever part of the under-story,

unseen, unheard,

yet eternally embraced by soil.

In this surrender,

where light is a memory,

I reach out,

not for salvation,

but for the mere sensation

of another soul reaching back.

To be swallowed by the earth

is not to end,

but to be endlessly enveloped,

to merge with the mud and the quiet…

the only hand reaching out

in a landscape of abandonment.

Here, in the heartbeat of the hidden,

I am alone,

not because I wish it.

No.

But because it is the hand I was given to hold

the only touch I know how to grasp.