The Skeleton

The wind and sky were a smudgy grey, both scent and colour blended
together in a slightly nauseating texture.
The day felt weak like pale light blinding discouraged eyes.
I walked along the road, trying to find some energy in the rhythm of my steps.
But all I felt was the barely noticeable mass of my sad heartbeat.

That's when I saw him walking alongside me, whistling a mocking medley
as he clunked along like a xylophone out of tune.
His hollow eyes and too big teeth, his clumsy skinny frame
he laughed at my despair I tried to cover so deftly with my bright red coat
and hat, my red cheeks and peppy chatter.

The skeleton invisible to anyone but me walking alongside me
singing now a cheery tune from a childhood cartoon.
No wonder I felt so spineless today, like putty in the hands of
a mischievous wood sprite, I seemed a boneless marionette longing
for its strings and puppet master, neither to be found.

To leave the past behind can be a dark and lonely path,
when indifference meets fatigue and sorrow.
The skeleton my longing for a future substance took my hand
and together we shuffled home whistling a tune that made
the wind shudder and retreat, perhaps our laughter was too much to bear.

The skeleton and my doughy spirit made it home,
with grass and mud between our bony toes,
and suddenly I realized he was my friend, in spite
of his bitter smell, his embrace tasted sweet to my tired soul.
The empty sound of our steps together now swift and strong held a bit of sun and hope.


Trudi Ralston.
February 22nd, 2015.