Digging our own graves
Everyone requested an official undertaking.
We were issued shovels -- Dig your own graves.
I set diligently about my work, surprised
at the number who ignored the edict.
Or, who abandoned their shovels
at the first backache or blister;
who now pass their days idly.
Some organize workshops and lectures
on the necessity of discernment and the art
of grave-digging. Others dutifully attend.
Distracted by perturbations, desires and moods,
I haven’t the suitable discipline for the task
and the ground thick with roots and stones,
but, my shovel seldom lies idle –
that edict is the only instruction I’ve been given
and I mean to take advantage of it.
I’ve selected a gravesite far from the commons.
There are others near me, laboring steadily –
graves tidily dug.
We are the eccentrics, our neighbors not quite
grasping the necessity and intensity of our efforts.
O child of God, work for the night is coming.
What’s left undone will be added to the morrow.