in this world alone
in the sun sits a dry bone
made drier by its harsh rays
becoming more brittle as he lays
on top of the high mesa
above the desert plains
this permanent place he claims
the rocks are his picture frames
in the wind, flowers are dancing dames
and the cacti are the stoic gentlemen
watching the dance
unwavering in their stance
the bone dreams of the past
but soon, he will be dust
he will join the rust
in her decaying dance
into the oblivion of the void
he was once bound with flesh
his life was bountiful and fresh
when he emerged from the womb
he did not sense the journey to the tomb
though he saw life fading
as life is also emerging
death could not touch him
he acted on every whim
he had much hope
he brought in a lot faith
but it died away
as he aged in wear and tear
he was torn off savagely
as a perilous crag gripped tightly
and would not let him go
the man flees without him
the coyote comes
and only sees flesh to devour
the poor bone clings desperately
to his temporary covering
that constantly changed
in its past connection to life
but it has now been
taken away violently
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