The Pit

"For the grave cannot praise you, death cannot sing your praise; those who go down to the pit cannot hope for your faithfulness."

Isaiah 38:18

Dirt under my nails, mud caked on my feet
How long have I been here?
The countless ticks and tocks click
With every cry and struggle, I see
A pit is always worst than is told
The bottom never seems deep enough
Cold shivers sprint up my spine as
Pink sky recedes into deep darkness
“With night comes the dawn”
Hopes and truths, breadcrumbs or
Fireflies illuminating, whirling
Fade into distant wisps of clouds
Can night liberate anguish?
Can dawn bind a chasm?
A victim to some
A slave to many
A casualty to one
Roaring to be filled
It gnaws away
Hunger