Skeletons Poem by G J Salgado

Wedged between the rested and the wicked,
Day breaks from the heat of the night,
Thirsts for the eternal of which it will defend,
Bursts of thunder from the fire flight.

Bones of the beautiful rise with the dead,
Pockets full of posies and bodies ordained by roses,
Sentiments told from the bloody lips of what their skeletons once said,
Ghosts in the bayou wait for the haunted collectors without flesh upon witches noses.

The next morning they all gather together,
Laying inside the empty caskets,
Burying the last of the cemeteries guests with their master,
Holding red flowers in bloodstained baskets.

Cracks begin to rip away at the graveyard's dirt,
Ripping its way through the ground's seams,
Muddy hand prints paint the earth,
Entering the world a new being by different means.