Ezekiel
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.