Buried Alive

A poem I wrote reflecting on 26 years of age. Written due to a bad day I had.

Everyday is a funeral, my own

Like a real death, I did not plan it

The funeral procession started small.

more and more followed the hearse

as time and age conversed

No more encouragement of youthful fire,

just assumption of a burial pyre

By the day, more people become my mortician

no matter my body's actual attrition

Gone is the debate of my potential,

only the mandate of my existential

The black cast me to one of three: pity, profit, pasture

The white wait and watch, their attendance contingent on my real absence

To be buried alive is to live as dead

Author's Note

Written out of a bad day. Didn't feel like changing the ending.

Reviews

[marilyn 1225]

YOUR writing is powerful and ,, whatever u are honest with your feelings.

[chimetime]

Thank you Marilyn. That day did pass. One thing I see now is that this sentimental "death" does not need to happen. Everything I said I believe to be true. But everything I said is true of our current world. The future should learn from both the past and present, not be shaped by it.

[John the Baptist]

"No more encouragement of youthful fire,/
just assumption of a burial pyre". I am not talking down to you or minimalizing your pain, but at 26 I think you're making something of a premature judgment unless you're terminally ill.

[chimetime]

I feel many of the basic staples in life are available at any age. However, many things that I personally want are becoming unattainable by the day. There is a reason why people don't tell 26 year olds that you can be absolutely anything you want or that the sky is the limit.