Buried Poem by Rickardo BecklesBurrowes

I dug all day, I dug all night
pain moved out of me becoming my 'companion' -
waiting to be acclimatised to new seasons,
hard winter bowing to hopeful spring.
Surviving in front of the haunting,
a ranger patrolling a land built of guilt;
sadness tenderly nurturing what grows underfoot.
Deeper down, closed away - sweet friend,
nails torn from the hole created;
digging back down distracted into inflicted senses,
until death asked the obvious -
'with no ladder, how will you get out'?