My hand grasps the soil. The sand scraped by my nails. I’m not giving up. I refused to be buried alive. I have grown weak. But I will climb out this grave. Exertion tests my motives. Failing is no option. One hand before the next, I climb. My knees dig into the walls that surround me. Scraped and targeted tho I be. I am near being free. I can’t give up. Purpose awaits. Sometimes waiting seems pointless. But move at the wrong time and you may slip into your grave. I’m overcoming death as the One before me. There may come times of testing but not without victory.