Bones

Bones

In the flesh – thoughts.
Invisible, infinite, whirring.
This is life.

Of course there is a God
If we think there is.
Of course the cause is just
If we think it so.

What else will you have?
Living and dying at the same time.
What else can there be
But ideas and the day dreaming
That the night will never come?

When the flesh is at last
Picked clean by the twin crows
Of love and hope,
There is nothing left
To think.
Nothing left
But bones.

This Post Has One Comment

  1. Very thoughtful, John. I admit, I can’t pass a pile of bones without having similar ideas. Is that all we amount to? As a misanthrope, melancholic and photographer, I see a good deal of graveyards. They provoke similar thoughts. I think I’m now, at this age, more aware of “the night” but part of me still wants to deny its reality. It’s good to see someone else express such ideas so poignantly and (compared to my writing) economically. Good stuff.

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