thoughts on the living dead (poem)

We mourn the people who are dead

Putting flowers on their graves

And sending up prayers for them

.

But what of those

Who are the living dead?

.

Sometimes it’s hard to see the glaze in their eyes behind their bright smiles

Smiles they conjure up to avoid unnecessary questions

Questions asked by strangers who don’t know their personal histories

But also questions asked by their inner-selves

.

Why are the living, dead?

Sometimes,

It’s just too painful to confront your own self

And will yourself to wake up and live fully

.

It’s all too easy to put up a façade

Blend yourself in with others, allow the currents in the river of life to take you with them,

And pretend you’re just as alive as you could possibly be

.

Yet it slowly crushes your soul even more

.

No one will give you flowers for fighting all the inner battles

That you’ve got to fight to win back your life again

Replace that glaze in your eyes with sparks of hope, or contentment

.

No, no one will give you flowers for that

Except for… perhaps your own self

🌺