Musings on a Silent Life - a poem

Took a last minute drudge in a swamp
and as I sink sunk sank into obliviousness
I thought, isn't this so much like life
as I glide indelicately across ponds of ice
what do I expect when it cracks underfoot
what can I hope if I take no care to proceed
with caution or to consider the fabrics
of my foundation or my universe in all its infinite
imagery.

Maybe it was calming presence of mud consuming
me but there was comfort in meeting such a cold
demise as though it were familiar to be caught
unaware even as I was buried alive in the muck
for isn't that I bit like life, I thought, how the dangers
and cautionary tales that are told, are so familiar
to us that they do not feel like distraction
but like comforters, we, who are so accustomed
to toxicity happily swallow the sludge
as if we had no methods of
escape.

Then as I took my last breath, which incidentally
was a swallow of swamp sludge slipping down throat,
I could only then think, was this life? Was I always
content to feed myself on the rot that festered
there on my lung, heart and mind,
for so many seasons I heard cries for bettered
conditions but for so many reasons
I heeded not outcry or battles fought and for that reason
I slip into comatose surrender to the pains I wrought
myself. It's that comforting feeling of familiarity
and what retrospect does is shake of foundations
you thought were safe secure and locked with key
but are truly defiantly lashing out that you attempted
nothing.

My head swallowed whole therein that swampy
situation, I couldn't help but think, was life
much better for my serving the sanctity of the normality
of cliches that society beckoned I consume
and would it have hurt to ponder a course of action
that was not in tune to the conductors in charge
behind the scenes in the curtains of history
played out and discharging orders
that they were unaware they did not have to give.
Sad state of affairs to witness clarity as you
depart.