14 October 2011

The Valley of Dry Bones

There is the uncomfortable sound of dry bones breaking under feet
Her shaking becomes fierce and both their eyes meet
He sees the fear mounting in her frame
Her eyes begin to roll back and she’s far from sane.
The swift hands catch her fall
He knows these bones, he knows them all.
He asks of her troubles, her worrying stance
She asks, “Have these bones not had a chance to dance?”
He meets her weary eyes and takes in the scene
The graveyard is distorted, certainly kept unclean.
There is no need for theatrical acts,
No need of eerie music or ghost contact.
But where there is darkness there are bones,
Who have found no home and are all alone.
But they do have a voice only He can hear,
And the dust of the earth, He sees clear.
With one breath there is flesh and skin
With one breath, new life begins.
She falls once more, this time in awe
He leans once more, to break her fall.
Into His arms, He carries her away
Away from the valley where dead bones once lay
Her eyes are closed as the first cries of life lift high
In memory of her old burial site.

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