Grave

The dark hands,
Drags me back into the grave,
I struggle to break free,
Looking out for the firefly,
Soaring in the distance…

I clutched the grass,
Clawed my fingers into the soil,
Clinging on to the stone,
I refuse to sleep six feet below,
Let me brood in my crypt!

I stare at the night sky,
Clouded from the heavenly bodies,
As though I am fated this way,
I want to see the twinkles,
At least a glimpse would be fine…

Should I wait until dawn?
Or should I rush to the east?
Just to see the morning star,
That I craved for so long,
Yet I deny my desperation.

My feet submerges,
How long must I hold on…?
Am I hopeless without the torch?
I feel stronger before I knew fire,
Bite me critters, I deserve it…

I loathe this weak self,
Maybe I am meant for the coffin,
I will stay if the day comes,
Or I will weep underground,
As I pray the light still glows…