Dry Bones

Day after day, I rivel.

Who knows for how long?

Reduced to mere survival

screaming it’s selfish undertone.

Aspiration is long forgotten

If I live, to what avail?

Despair darkens my demeanor

Time and time again, I fail.

Tell me, Lord.. can these dry bones live?

Compassion is now contended;

Making less sense than it did before

And those who are offended

break the hinges off my door.

Disappointment - my adornment -

as if I’m capable of more.

If only they knew the torment

that is relentless at my core.

Tell me, Lord.. can these dry bones live?

Wisdom - she only mocks me.

She dances around my doom

singing, “Here lies a foolish boy

who followed freedom to his tomb.”

Now I’m cast to raging seas;

A boat beaten by a angry wave;

curdled cries like pleas

from crows that cry above my grave.

Tell me, Lord.. can these dry bones live?

Ah, Lord, You know.

But I am left to wonder why

every attempt to be the hero

turns to ashes when I die.

All this foolishness will follow

as I lay down and return to dust

and time is sure to swallow

all these fallacies I trust.

Tell me, Lord.. can these dry bones live?