The Mine (spoken word)

Poem/spoken word about my own life.

I spent seven years digging this hole and I still haven’t made it

Or at least I don’t think I have.

Some might say that the shovel I hold is my pride and joy,

But when I started out I was just a boy.

 

Innocent as ever just trying to be like his dad,

I found a hidden treasure, full of strange things I had never seen.

Little did I know it was booby trapped,

And that time after time this addiction would relapse.

 

That day when I was just eleven years old I was sold,

Sold unto the lies of the world and the centerfold

The secret gold that I thought I had found turned my heat to ash and dirt,

I’m still digging with my shovel, I got blisters that still hurt.

 

Just once I’d like to stop digging and see the daylight again,

To stop hiding in this mine searching for the next treasure,

I’m sick of nasty weather and the guilt of this artificial pleasure.

But together, we can climb out of this mine shaft and see a world much better.

 

Take my hand and out of this cold dark hole in our land,

Let’s rise up, be free of the addiction of men,

And the thing those religious ones call sin,

But where to begin, we’re so far lost and the walls are caving in.

 

My heart is in hollowed out and has holes on all sides,

Every attempt at finding a way out has led to dead ends and more holes as I try to escape,

So where do I turn to in this chasm of never ending suicide,

Killing my self slowly with every glance, I never stood a chance and have no alibi.

 

Every move I make is another mistake, caught between the pages of heartaches and earthquakes,

Will this 10.0 be the end of the world I once knew that was stolen so long ago,

My lungs can’t take the pressure from being so far under, it really makes you wonder, will I ever see the way out again?

Will I ever be free, to live without slavery, jealousy and all these demons?

 

I ask these questions even though I have heard all the answers,

But do I still believe in a savior that can fill in these holes,

Take me by my blistered filthy hands, into His which are far more abused.

My wounded healer, please rescue me from the pits of hell and shovel I hold,

It’s so dark here in this bleeding cell I dug for myself and I can’t stand the cold.

 

I want out, I need out, please oh please, just get me out!