Buried Alive

Brian Beckage
8 Feb 2021

Dig a deep hole
In the woods behind the house
Lead me out there, no,
Drag me out there,
Maybe a shotgun
At the back of my head,
On my knees,
Bury me to my neck,
Make each breath a struggle,
And leave me there to die.

No, instead,
Tie me to this machine,
Staring into a screen,
All day long,
Deep into the darkness of night.
Give me more than can be done
And make my life depend
On getting it done.
and remind me often
of how badly I’m doing.

No time for a walk,
No time to stroll,
No time to stare out the window
At the birds, singing,
flitting about the trees,
From sun to shade,
And back again.
No time to envy their freedom,
Lightness of being, no,
I’m a prisoner,
of something,
Not sure what,
I can’t point to it or touch it,
But it makes my eyes twitch
And my jaw tight,
And my blood pressure high.
My soul will not abide,
My body cracks at the strain,
You might pull the trigger now,
Before it is too late,
Maybe, its already too late,
Sign me out,
I don’t care about your system,
My productivity, or the greater good,
Or obedience, or respect, or authority
Or any of the meaningless words
That hold me down
That pry my spirit from my body,
Ripping my being.
No more
I am done.
Leave me here,
To be,
So that my soul can rejoin my body,
And wander about the world and sing.

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