Poetry

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When dry bones are mentioned,
the old woman is uneasy.
Assumes negativism is intentioned,
the comments make her queasy.
She thinks of her predicament,
issues she cannot take lightly.
Dry bones are her impediment;
she considers them unsightly

Hear what she says,
“I am now old, all hope is gone.
My hope has faded far away
and I’m as dry as a bone.
Waterless... without moisture,
parched and dehydrated.”
But this is what she doesn’t say:
“I feel so isolated.”

Regardless of how dry,
can they live again?
Speak of disease and the sick cry,
can we end the pain?
Conversely, talk of polluted vision
and the guilty become afraid.
When the Bible and lifestyle are in collision,
is there hope for the strayed?


Inspired by Ezekiel 37:1-14

© 2014 Dee Kyalo

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