Who Looks Down

when the dead
buried their own dead

who was left standing
covered in mud and dirt?

fear is a consuming feeling

the roots using the rotting dead
as nutrients for the growth

twisting around my heart
squeezing me until i can hardly breathe

i can hardly think

who are the rotting
who looks down on them?

where do i lie?
in the pit
or on its edge?

who looks down on me
and do i care?

do i hesitate
in the door
will i make it through
or will it slam in my face?

i can hardly think

but i have my resolve
i have made my choice

the fear
is now something i can start cutting away.

i won’t hesitate
i won’t procrastinate

so let me rise
from the pit
in which i lay