These Bones Might Do For Dancing

Sometimes ideas for poems pop into your head unbidden. I had an image of my head of a skeleton beneath a tree, in one hand he's holding a flower, in the other a pile of ash. It soon became clear to me that the ash was his heart, held out for a lover that had never come. The flower was a symbol of what he was willing to do for her, to make an oasis in the desert, a meadow, an Eden.

He's left waiting but perhaps there's still some fire left in those old bones...

These Bones Might Do

I painted these old bones

Decorated with swaths of color

Vibrant patterns to allure you

With words of love on tip of tongue

And planted this oasis

These green hills and meadows

This placid pool still clear

Amidst this endless desert

Waiting with arms outstretched

In one hand holding a flower

In the other a pile of beating flesh

Plucked right from my chest

Inside these sleeves there are no tricks

In my words not one ounce of deception

Only an offer of my love

Only truth and affection

These wild flowers I have sown

So I may look upon one more beautiful still

These words of sweetness I instill

Yet in haste you have flown

Will no one sit with me a spell?

And cast their eyes on crystal water

To see the reflections I beheld

The beauty deeper, grander, farther

Will no one be enchanted?

Not one maiden fair?

Who might seek to build a home with me

To tend the gardens here

For even in my loneliness

Even in the dark

I have kept one fire from going out

One captivating spark

And with one breath, one whisper sweet

With one spellbinding eve

You might find yourself at home here

You might light a fire in me

These bones might do for dancing

Though they rattle at the knees

These eyes might try entrancing

Though yours see right through me

This soul may be still lonesome

This heart tender and shy

But I am holding them out for you

Promising they're worth the try

There is shade and there is water

There is laughter in these hills

For even in these lonesome bones

E'er love dwells still