Ezekiel

I am one of the many

Sets of dry bones found in

The valley Ezekiel

Had his vision of.

Strewn across the wasteland

Scattered amongst the dust

Ivory pallor and ebony eye sockets

Where I used to have visions of my own.

I was nothing but a haystack

Lost trying to find the needle in myself,

Until dashed to pieces by waves

And a high noon gale swept me off to here.

Those thundering breakers

Thumping like a bass drum

Tragedy has always been rhythmic

Like the pumping of this heart.

I see now it was necessary

To strip me of my skin,

How else would I have seen

The scrimshawed plotlines

Of ancient stories

Some had begun to believe the only myth

Carved into my bones.

Your bones knew pain too

Beaten and yoked

With the sins of all men

With wicked tools

Wielded by fools

Who knew not the treachery

Their hands had wrought

Or how the remnants of their deeds

Scarring your still human form

Would leave ink on my soul

Would whisper in the corners

Of my cynical heart

Things I can’t ignore.

If you weighed down

With my transgressions as you were

Could die and then breath life,

Plunge entirely into the black waters of death

And have them reject you as foreign

As too full of majesty to decay

Impossible to sink even with

My anchor around your neck.

If you could walk away

Unscathed days later

After the mass of humanity

Had begged your death

And with happy songs

Laid the bricks for your tomb,

Perhaps the tales found beneath

My cracked and blackened skin

Maybe true,

Perhaps these bones can walk

And find a home in you.