Sunday Scribblings: Deepest, Darkest

This week's prompt, deepest, darkness, somehow brought out the poet in me. She doesn't come out very often, so be kind! I don't even know how to punctuate poetry.

The Grave

The grave I dug was deep and dark,
It bordered on the woods,
I tossed within bits of the past,
The evils and the goods;
Broken bits of shrubs untended,
Sweet herbs now gone to seed,
A diamond and some precious coins
To show I’d lost my greed.
I knew that there was room for more,
Something not yet revealed,
I searched the dark depths of my mind,
But it remained concealed.

The dew of dusk clung to the leaves,
The sun began to set,
I grabbed the spade to fill the grave
But the task was not done yet.
The wind picked up, the clouds went dark,
And soon I could not see,
The darkness spoke in a deep sure voice,
The forgotten thing was me.

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