Rusty Bones

Imagine my rusty bones

scattered in the dust,

drying under the red fire of the sun,

your eyes so pale they are almost white.

You and me;

life, dice loaded from the start;

birth, scrounging for change,

scraping, when it was then.

I will love you until I die;

you and me

meandering through the glass of living.

Blue on blue, our sky, our sea.

Remaining the same;

choosing to win;

our soul, our best friend,

slipping away someday.



The way to be happy is to make others happy

Wade Harold Johnson

Leave a Reply

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

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

Facebook photo

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

Connecting to %s