The Skeleton

Entropy will have its way
As soft parts undergo decay.
Brains and innards turn to dirt.
This degradation always hurts.
When all the meat has rotted clean,
Mortality reveals its dream,
So slender and idealized
Stony structure as contrived
As silicon in crystal spears.
Yes, elegant, but still we fear
These bones that once defined a face.
Now they are the hollowed trace
Of bacteria’s own fetid toil
As emptied selves unite with soil.

Elizabeth Hurst

If you have any thoughts about this poem, Elizabeth Hurst would like to hear them.