Paydirt Poem by richard ilnicki

Down on my knees
I attempt to get as low
as I can go.
This position, however,
does not entirely satisfy
my need to get low.
I wish there were some posture
much lower than this.
So I magnify my genuflection
by getting on my face,
but even this is not low enough
to solicit forgiveness.
The anguish of my offense
drives my soul to the ground.
I desire to dig a place
far below the earth,
an unknown place
which is uninhabitable.
With the spade of my heart
in my weary calloused hands
I continue to dig.
In time I hit paydirt,
a place below which
worms are considered kings
and men are considered worms.