Valley of Dry Bones

     by Kelley Goewey

White bones, dry bones,

Bleaching in the sun.

These are my bones.

I am dead and gone.

Numb and empty,

Marrow scorched away.

Always empty,

Nothing but a grave.

Come then, prophet,

Meet my empty eyes!

Wake me, prophet.

Skulls grin at the sky.

Nerves expanding.

Once they were my own.

Skin expanding,

Stretching over bone.

Muscles growing.

Feel the new-ripe heart.

Terror growing—

Take me back apart.

Tearing, blazing,

Aching in myself.

Fire blazing.

Burn me back to health.

Still so empty,

Blood and bone and skin.

Hopeless, empty,

Endless hell I’m in.

Rumors coming,

Something on its way.

Breath is coming

From so far away.

Violent maelstrom,

Stinging sand and wind.

Holy maelstrom,

Give me breath again.

Sudden stillness.

I begin to breathe.

Fragile stillness

Split by quiet speech.

“Dry bones, bad blood,

You are dust no more.

I spilled my blood,

I have paid the score.

“You were hopeless;

I unsealed your grave.

Be not hopeless!

Take the life I gave.” 

His blood flowing,

Pumping through my heart.

Hope, new growing,

Putting out the dark.