I carry it with me,
this bag of bones,
of broken down building blocks.
These I have gathered,
these moldering bits of a million little memories,
times and places and people,
thousands over the course of a life,
tucked away for safekeeping.
It drags behind me,
clatters and clacks in a diabolical cacophony.
Always I carry this calcified collection,
but only a few can see,
and those few know the weight of it themselves.
They carry their own
bones in sacks, dangling from weary hands.
Why is not the question.
It is when.
When to open it?
And which.
Which to choose?
And how.
How to fit that one fragile bit into the puzzle just so.
Oh yes,
the burden is heavy,
and every day it grows.
But for those who carry the bags,
curate the bones and create new skeletons,
there is no greater treasure.
-
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A Virginia Writer's Diary 
Beautiful imagery.
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Thank you!
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Beautiful poem. I liked the last two lines most. Thanks 😊
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Thank you!
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But for those who carry the bags,
curate the bones and create new skeletons,
there is no greater treasure.
A meaningful post on the bones👍👍
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Thank you! I’m so glad you liked it! 🙂
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I needed this today. Made me think.
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It makes me happy to hear that. 🙂
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Beautiful 💟💟
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Thank you! I was so glad to discover your blog today. 🙂 I look forward to reading more of your posts!
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Creating new skeletons, what a great way to put it!
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Thank you! It felt right.
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It should have, you nailed it.
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This is really nice, it reminds me to appreciate the good and bad in life. Thank you!
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Thank you! I’m glad you liked it!
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