This dark and deep poem from Joseph Emerson comes from the soul and brings to the surface the fears we all have about living life to the fullest without wasting a moment.

I scratched and I clawed my way, several feet up

intuitive, survival instincts had quickly kicked in,

I punched my way through the tamped surface

a ghost of a chance, that I’d let the Devil win.

As I rose up to the surface en route towards the stars

I could feel the chill wind blow against my face,

I looked beside me as I detected a slim glimmer

a headstone reflecting the moonlight in my space.

My name delicately written in a standard Celtic font

my birthdate and yesterdays are joined by a dash,

every sense leaves me in the pulse of my heartbeat

as it feels that my presence turned to dust in a flash.

Too late for regrets, and denial is too long overdue

to die with great dignity and respect I cannot save,

I just have to lie with the realization that I,

have wasted my entire existence digging my grave.

Reblogged from Digging in the wrong direction — What’s Inside a Madman’s Hat?