Beginning of the End

At first I planted little flowers

Daisies and wild grown mixed


With names long forgotten

Little jewels in the surface

Of the earthy dirt

Covering it furtively like

I couldn’t stand

The bareness of the dust

The tasteless colourless bits of soil

Good enough for burying bones

And sodden letters written

Late into the night


One day I uprooted all the blossoms

Little lies in my own mind

If the earth was mine to face

Then dust and I would stand each other down

Let it not ever be said I shied

From the contest

And I breathed the faint scent of the earth

The nothing out of which sprung


And I realised my task was not to grow

My pretty little garden

But to dig beneath it

Because my business was not

With the topsoil

Nor with the hard rock

I sweated and toiled at with a pickaxe

Scattering mountains of jewels

When I got deep enough


My task was with the boiling

Molten fire

Neath it all

The oceans of flame roiling

At the core

That is where I would meet at last

My match.

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