Gravedigger

  For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
  And what is it to cease breathing but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

  Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
  And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
  And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.
~ Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

Spasmodic convulsion (first draft)
Every neck muscle about to pop,
Ligaments scream in agony,
Flop sweat stings wide open eyes
of terror and fear.

I gasp for clean cool air and it crashes
Into my throat as broken glass,
Gouging and tearing flesh; a large
Mouthed bass hooked in the eyes on the
Bottom of the boat.

My violent shakes and protests
Give way to gray and the agonizing
Paralyzing fear of suffocation.
Soon I will be in the hands of the Gravedigger.

Courage is closed until I find freedom, courage, and strength to write for me as I see the world.

Perhaps I'll see you as the tides turn and sea becomes shore.

Charley