Dead Amongst the Living
I’m no longer writing poetry
I’m not sure why
I sit here on the front porch
Looking at the sky
And that is all I do
These thoughts are many
These thoughts are few
I just don’t know who I am anymore
Stillness can be heaven
Stillness can be hell
And often I cannot
Will not
Tell the difference
These dichotomies have created judgment in me
I don’t want that anymore
But this place where I sit amongst a sandy shore
Feels very unsettling to me
All I wanted was to be free
And all I got was imprisoned
The train blows shrill across the chasm
It’s a warning instead of an announcement
But he seems to be having fun letting it loose
Over and over and over
I look down at the struggling clover
That is surviving this summer heat
Nothing else here questions its existence
Nothing
So why do I?
Why do I sit and stare at sky
And wonder why it is I’m here?
To sing a song, to drink a beer
To play a game, to work a day
To walk on and on in this merry way
That leads to both great joy and brutal heartache
I hope that those that attend my wake
Will be there to have fun when they greet me
kdc, 6/2/19
