Poetry

Pile Of Old Bones

 Pile of old bones 

We creak and groan with any movement 

The wind sighs through us 

Weathered and worn but 

Melded

Together 

Woven like wicker baskets our

Limbs entangled

To

Create 

A 90* angle 

Not  wrong

But right 

Just the right angle 

We form an L in the bed 

Fused in all the right places 

Like a rope formed

From many ropes

We are stronger when we’re together. 

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