Buried Bones
Spur the moment flashes the motivation for most of the human race. Having fun but leaving
no trace, death occurs at a rapid pace.
Cover your ass and save your face, seems to be the motto of our American taste.
Living with out shame or guilt has kept most warm under their quilt, walking high on stilts.
Sweeping under the rug all of our silt, with a closet full of bones sheltering a host of many
wrongs. We all know that song.
Our country has lied to all from every side; there are some things we shouldn’t digest from
the inside, without causing panic of a riotous riptide.
This place will devour itself in a matter of time; the ravenous mass that is without esteemed
class shall run over all say the last.
Make haste that we don’t waste what we have worked so hard to taste, forsaken are those
unplaced.
The story is old and always foretold, buried bones haunt the mind till one is old.
James C Bryant Jr.
January 8, 2002
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