Last Bone Dance

 

I can hear the bones talk.

Old medicine man

shakes the spirits out

and listens.

Even the buried ones

call out from their tombs,

cathedral floors,

and ancient megaliths.

 

They call us to the dance.

Up high in the sky,

a divine rapture

invites the dirt-bound.

Sentinels that have slumbered,

now wake

to greet the orchestra.

 

The moon,

full and red.

Jupiter and Mars

line up for the cosmic pageant.

Dressed in their finest,

dust, moss and tendrils of old flesh,

they come to greet the Maestro.

  

Secrets taken deep,

and hidden,

are whispered again.

Closets empty,

all souls that yet cling

to their earthly remembrance

gather for the grand reverie.

 

A million soldiers,

ten million,

one hundred million,

march in decayed regalia.

This will be

their final ball

and there are none

who would miss it.

 

Empty the crypts.

Break open the mausoleums.

let every musician

whoever died young

strike up with the band

and play their greatest hits

one last time.

 

Then,

in that darkest moment,

just before the dawn.

The sun rises in the west

for the first time

in eons of collective memory.

 

A pure white light,

bright enough

to devour

bone and shadows alike

returns us all to the stars,

back to where we came from,

after one last dance.

 

 

HG – 2022