A Grave Digger Poem by James McLain

A grave digger;
Once was more than the handle by you
they both held,
inside of each shadows grey swept hole.
Looking up at you turn it over, the moon
is no better it's blue.
Some could never be made whole after that.
Bound even in redemption, beyond the light
of the darkest soul of that which then once was,
but never no more, as a being with burnt wings
said it always.
Some are so young either way walking across
to their own,
whom but the digger is there to greet what most
have cast off into.
But first over the ledge, a bridge of troubled waters.
Muddied beyond,
even to he whom you call out to known in your sleep.
Suppressed all of it except when you do it and when
you do what you did,
thinking of the windy plain and the hole prepared for
you,
as you wait to be wiped clean, even then a residual
may stay within you.
Tell me now once again what was that you know you did.
Growing weary of interceding, I keep burning my wings.