Bag of bones,
sack of guts,
is skin all
that contains what is
inside?
Worm food or
Soylent Green.
Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust,
from the earth we came
and to the earth we return,
bones and guts and
ashes and dirt
all wrapped in
skin.
Where are the muscles,
the tendons,
the strength?
People are more
than jiggling sagging bags
waiting to burst
and rot.
The prompt for this week was to write a poem that constantly noticed what was inside things, and this is what came out of that prompt and my head. I've been in a bit of a mood lately.
