Dead Man's Grave Poem by Dulan Kumarasiri

Stuck in a box, unable to move.
By the crowd in carried
A layer of wood, never to improve
Lost all feeling; no longer worried
Turned to stone, stuck still
There's no life, nor a will
Living was too tiring, death was a bliss
I pity the dead living down in the abyss

I look at them from up here
I see sadder faces than mine
They were nothing mere
Poorer souls than mine
As they sit there and suffer
In a world made by design

It's too sad, I cannot even laugh
They suffer from poison, from pain
They suffer from disease as if it wasn't enough
They suffer from desire; rotting their brain

I look from up here, carried like a king
I see those corpses still dwelling
I struggled against my box, them against theirs
My eyes stare dead, while theirs fill their tears

My soul rests in a casket, theirs in a hole
They live in no joy, never becoming whole
My hearts stopped beating, theirs palpating
Trapped in mortality while I'm levitating
They sit and stare with upside down smiles
Falling to life's beautiful beguiles

My box freed me.
They hid their key.
I was in a wooden basket, they're in a stone grave.