The Other End of the Shovel

I dig until my arms ache.
I dig until my knuckles split open and my hands are half wood.
I dig until the salty tears that fall down my face,
Water the rock-hard earth.
I dig until the SWeet release of numbness hits,
And I am dumb with arduous duty.
For when the hole is finally open,
And the dead laid to rest,
They will be home and I will be lost.

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