?# attempt at surreal poem. I think I'm getting it, doesn't help that it's due tonight.
Dusty, earth, red puffs rising
Drops, rain, beating the ground
Drums, pounding a song of dirt
Bones so dry must wake
must wake!
Dry, brittle, white as the moon
Dreary, rattling in the wind
Drifting, tumbling red-coated
Baked with cinnamon dust
with dust!
But the bones must wake
Those ripened limbs, the skulls
the fingers, the shins and knees
For you see bones
but I see an army
Rank upon
rank
of victory
Flesh, sinew and muscle forming
Fresh, skin and pores burnt red
Free, saved from confines of
Death and a bed of cinnamon swirl
of swirl!
Waking, stirring bones are living
Walking, emerging from the dust
Watching, earth now filled with breath
Rain beats down the drums of war
of war!
The bones stand boldly
Those haunting eyes, the teeth
the fingers, the skin and under
For you see bones
but I see an army
Marching to
drums
of thunder
--MovingGirl
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