Ts Lewis Poet Free verse

You Dig

My after midnight therapy... 

I've come to own by inheritance 
this fertile plot of land 
the things it grows,
 I don't understand.
I dig and dig but never
gain the root of what it is.

I've come to believe 
my occupation dirty's me.
I mean, I can't save him,
while  burying me.

My hat goes off to people 
taking on people-problems 
while remaining drama free.
Guess that's why they're  professionals 
and we pay them to farm
places off limits 
to the masses.
They deal with people's fallen state
 and manage to say
"Hi honey, I'm home" and so far
from monotone
Amazing, the water that sits in their 
compassion tub
 is effervescent.
As for me, I don't seem to bathe that cleanly 
Dirt becomes the substance 
I'm known by
I sprout leaves of discontent 
Some therapist pulls on it
and says, "There, that's it"
while leaving the harvest underground. 

Don't ask me what my problem is 
while standing there watching me dig.
I'm trying to save someone buried. 
So I keep digging,
but lately I've been thinking, 
I'm the one who needs saving.

My after midnight therapy 
writing, shoveling, to the depths I go. 
Farm it, and it will grow.

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