The Dead Among Us

Nobody guards the living dead.

That wander around among us.

We can no longer smell their decay

Or witness their festering pus

The stories you’re told protect you

Against the sacred forever sleep.

Work harder than you need to

Pray your soul for them to keep

I hate mourning the living dead

That can’t remember the words

To the songs that living humans sing

To the tunes of the cawing birds

The crackling fear that reaps us clean

Of dastardly deeds and acts unseen

Retrieves us back from comfort one

At rising dawn or setting sun

I hate that the fear leaves things unsaid

That fear that the coffin will spring open

like a jack-in-the-box’s bouncing head

 scaring the life out of your heart

as it sucks you up in one whole part.

 Yes.

 Nobody guards the living dead.

3 comments on “The Dead Among Us

  1. Reblogged this on Mare Martell and commented:

    I was browsing my poems looking for something that I probably forgot to post when I discovered this. For a split moment, I wondered who wrote this, then remembered it was me. I share this forgotten poem I wrote because I’m hoping it will clean your windows and straighten your glasses.

  2. Laura Davis says:

    Is it supposed to be “comfort one” or “comfort zone”?

    Your writing reaches wayyyy down in my gut. I wonder if I feel that way because you’re just that good of a writer or because we have things in common, or both?

    • Comfort one to answer your first question. It reads differently with comfort zone, means something else in my head.

      I can’t answer why my writing affects you as it does, I’m just glad that you have an emotional reaction which is my intent.

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