The Bones
The bones of the matter,
pieces chipped by the harsh reality of life
and aged by the winds of time.
Some have become petrified,
dried out and turned to delicate lace.
Others are more substantial.
Cluncky, oddly shaped, jagged edged, and smooth lined,
intermingled in a tangle of stories to tell.
They lie dry and dusty, no temporal flesh
in which to hide its strength or frailty.
These bones have been kicked and scattered
by a million carless feet that never looked or slowed down
on their way to something distant that caught their eye.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
