The Fall

The world is crumbling as I stumble through it,
ignoring the ground that is falling apart with each step.
Instead, I clutch the crumbling parts of a world,
but they turn to dust,
becoming what it once was.
I begin to run,
my lungs screaming for oxygen,
but it is undeserving of the relief from each breath.
I run until I cannot feel and fall onto the floor,
forgetting that it is decaying with me;
I slip through the cracks,
tumbling into the core,
faintly hoping that it would spare my life.
Falling down the black pit,
my screams echoing
with no one to hear them.
A teardrop falls from my cheek. 
Wind tangling my hair,
I await the impending doom.
I clutch my chest, holding myself in,
I crumble to become an entity of the earth,
as I was in the genesis. 
Broken, shattered, unwanted.
I lay limp, like a sprout,
waiting for the world to devour me.
I see the green. I see the sprout.
I see the teardrop holding on for dear life.
A sigh escapes my lips, and I push myself up.
Hair covering my eyes,
Like the teardrop,
I hang on to a broken life.
It is inescapable. 
It never relinquishes,
it never relents, 
it never retreats.
But it tests us,
it challenges us,
it strengthens us.
The endless duel between me and this,
this adversity,
is precious.
Difficult, but irreplaceable. 
As I fall into pits and holes,
I get up.
I want to win. 
I want to grow.
I want to hang on.
At the root of that nascent sprout is
the beginning
and the end.
It's where I have started 
and where I will soon finish.
I don't want to soak into the brown, mushy soil,
never to surface.
I want to be a part of the start and the finish.
I want to be nourishment to
my world.
So I grow relentless
and stubborn.
I hang on for dear life,
until I am assured that I will be remembered:
not as a mere teardrop,
but water that nourished love,
that nourished inspiration,
that nourished motivation,
that nourished


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