The Quick and the Dead

Every day I see the quick
And the dead.
Souls who get
It
Souls who don't.
I see them
And in my wanderings ponder
What about me?
Then some of them answer...

It starts with my thoughts
Each morning on the edge of awakening
As I grumble
Shifting into maturity
Or what I've been told that is;
Follows me out my door
As I turn again
Because in my rush to survive
I don't want to leave my dreams
Idling upon sheets
Useless.

It strains my shoulders
Into a curvature of the spine
My eyelids follow
Along the black rhythms
Of their quiet stares
Recognizing me
As one of the damned
Delicately dancing
Upon the razor of existence
Thankful for my calloused soul
Bare and strong
Being neither quick
Or dead
Going about life
In it's strange
Usual way...
©2010cchristopherbess