Old Bones

On the merit of forgetting.

Why do we fail to see things until

they are dead and gone

Their wasted flesh fallen to the ground

us walking in the dust they have left

turning over and over in the remnants

of that now dead life 

laying fallow on the ground

We pick it up

dust our lips with the ash

choke on the memories

that were, when alive, nothing at all to us

but now are our ways and reasons 

this death we wallow in

 

breathe in the crushed dead petals

of forgotten dreams

their fragrance

only a pouch inside our memory

that we cling to

as a mother's breast 

trying to suck sweet milk

from the decay of brittle bones

This crumbling clock we hear

ticking away in our ears 

pounds incessantly

the timbre of yesterday,

the funeral dirge

we dance our lives to

Reviews

[Bare trees]

I suppose as we get older we realize more how important things are or how unimportant things turn out to be. Goals I've had that never materealized actually turned out to be a blessing. People I thought I wanted to be around or know turned out to be something entirely different then I thought.

And yet life keeps going on, giving us more stuff and ideas to latch onto that may never come to fruition. And yet, there are the other things that simply come and go before we ever move fast enough to attain them, weather through laziness or just lack of judgement. You write very well and express your ideas in unique phrases. Nicely done Misty.

[Coyote Poetry]

Good question raised by this powerful poem.
"Why do we fail to see things until
they are dead and gone"
Most of us learn too late too appreciate the good people in our life. Your words and thoughts open the door to real questions of what is really important. Thank you for the excellent poem.
Coyote