APATHY FOR THE CANARY

I wish to climb back in. 

to crawl back squeezing. 

Through the darkness 

cast cobwebs aside 

 on hands and knees. 

The crawl space of the spirit 

 where no light reaches. 

Where no one can touch me.

The impenetrable walls. 

A darkened icy realm. 

Enveloped in buffers. And barriers. 

The inner citadel is the only space. 

The only safe realm. 

A stable lasting peace. 

Only sustainable within its confines. 

The conditions may seem fun and tempting outside. 

Happy and safe and "different this time". 

Yet dangers always arise. 

Never is it different. 

Not if but when. 

The attack will surprise once more. 

And claim new victims... 

Each and every time outside. The city walls. They fall.
No, go, go back inside. 

Crawl on hands and knees. 

Through the tunnel.

The shaft of rusty-nailed rafters. 

Holding the weight of the mountain 

open for your entry. 

Then kick them down behind you. 

Collapse the tunnel.

Cave it in. 

Around and on top of self 

swallowing darkness and 

darkness swallowing self. 

Seeking not glimmers of diamond or gold. 

Only the darkness is what I dig. 

The light shed by precious gems. 

Pressed back into the dirt. 

Only the darkness is what I dig. 

A mineshaft needing no cart or pulley f

or future retrievals 

in the darkness is where I stop and sit. 

The tunnel burrows deep into 

the mountain. Never searching 

out the other side. Down inside the womb 

of the mountain. Down into the bowels is where 

I climb. 

They claim 

victory of its summit. "Up is the harder climb" 

yet their ascent, seen by all, rewards 

each step with prideful temptations.
Once at the top, other peaks appear. 

Calling screaming 

pulling them back down. Back up. 

Back down . A game they're happy to play.
Yet the downward climb, the most 

defying in darkness, no audience clap. 

Breathing not fresh air. Over canaries stepping. 

The burn of methane. instead 

of cloud capped crests. Upward climb 

seems more defying. Yet each effort up, 

in ease for return. Even if pickaxe 

and rope, for up are needed. Only stroll, 

roll, jump, to get back home. Down

Yet the downward climb, despite no effort, 

amongst gravity, each step, carries 

with it the weight. Of the knowledge 

of the challenge of return. To climb 

back out, of the hole, to find your way 

home, to maybe not be able, to make it, 

if the mind changes.

Why, this is a climb, requiring 

commitment and bravery. Perhaps 

the darkness will be to fearsome. Perhaps 

rations will run out 

will the strength remain 

to turn and climb back out.

A one-way trip, is all 

that's needed, 

out here among the many, we cannot stay. 

The citadel is calling, 

the warrior bleeding, retreats 

behind its walls, sword and shield 

abandoned, hands and knees 

he crawls. 

the deep cave bowel 

barely room to fit, snug 

crawling into position, fetal 

eyes and mind closing, the end 

has finally 

arrived