Where the Sun Does Not Reach

I want to crawl on my hands and knees
through dirty, sandy spaces,
accessed only by those who know
the way,
where the sun does not reach
and never will,
where the shadows are dominant,
light scatters,
afraid,
the world above,
apart,
until
the walls collapse
and
the world below
is but rubble
and a memory,
not to be forgotten
but never again to be traversed.

Once the dust has settled,
I wish to return once more
standing on my own two feet
atop the mound of earth
where tunnels once ran beneath
breathing deep
finding in the crisp morning air
a hint of what once was
smiling and
with a chuckle
walking away
for good.