many days
are caves that we live in.
holding the canary in the cage
to see
where air
is or isn't.
we take our torch and go
forward.
pick and axe in hand.
helmet secured. striking at
the walls around us.
will there we a diamond
in the black stone of this hard
mountain, or will we bring
back just enough
to go home, to eat, to be
with the ones we love, or
don't love,
and start again tomorrow.
the later seems to win
out for most.
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