It's Not Easy Being a Mythological Creature.


Each day I pull myself up from the bottom.  
My fingers find their way through the dark earth.  
Each time I panic, for I’ve quite forgotten  
My lungs will fill themselves again, for all it’s worth.  

Each day I push the soft walls of my tomb  
And when I hit a rock, I dare not cry. 
I hide the blood, the dirt, the bruises and resume  
To rise, defiantly, till I run out of sky.  

I wake up in the dark again each day.  
Without the recollection of my fall.  
My hands are tired, and yet they dig away  
What twenty horses cannot hope to haul.  

I know it’s useless, yet I try to rise - 
Because of all the hopefull eyes fixed on the skies.

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