Bleached Bones

The sands of time
scrub us clean.
Sun salutations,
detached mandible
We each led full lives,
each lost in time,
how will they know
what our screams

Bleached bones.

The scarabs droning
on about Khepri’s
morning birth
and Atum’s
lonely groans
of singular pleasure
in his birthing home.

But, we’re alone,

deprived of rebirth,
deprived of renewal,

no self-womb
to protect us.

As you dry,
with blood or ink,
scrawl your life
on the nearest sheet

of papyrus.

© CGT, 2018.

One Comment on “Bleached Bones

  1. Being so roughly eroded and exposed and brittle, this makes me so uncomfortably thirsty for rebirth. Perhaps life will come if I can get anything on that papyrus. More imagery that sticks to the bones.


Talk to me.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: