buried alive

I remember just how I had "died",
The sorrow had been too much.
Away from life my soul had fled,
But the body lived on and I cried.

My senses did I still use on,
And made some efforts as such,
But they say I am a thing as the dead,
Apart from the living I am torn.

As if, for me, the grave were best,
 My efforts have no-one touched,
More and more of my being has now been shed,
And the soul craves a deeper rest.