Poem: Almost Dead

late afternoon_resize

Almost Dead

I remember being dead.
The feeling of it.
The certainty.
The strange peace of knowing
the struggle was done.

A murder, almost managed to perfection,
an almost corpse,
ready to surrender,
going through the motions,
and nothing more.

But here I am,
an utter failure as a corpse,
strangely insistent on living,
proof of an afterlife
here on earth.

About this poem

I have come close to death three times. Twice physically. Once emotionally/spiritually. And yet here I am.

And gladly so.



  1. That’s a great photo. I feel that you’ve captured the spirit of buried corpses. Not sure of the plural of corpse. The poem is a keeper. To reflect on. To appreciate all that life is. To be reborn is
    the absolute best. Thanks for stirring up the memories, Alice

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