There are skeletons in the front yard
Standing and sitting
Drinking beer
Playing cards
They don’t care about the others passing them
That the others would like to ignore their existence
Act like they aren’t there, they say amongst themselves
Even the angels choose to not see them
Angels that pass them with condescending looks
Angels that ignore the similarities They wait in silent patience
For the day when they will be truly seen
By the offenders of their time
But I,
I pick up their fallen limbs
Ripped off by the wind
Tortured by time
I put them back into place
I bring them another beer
Play their games
Make them comfortable
No flesh to call their own
No halo to give them holy insight
No choice as to what they see or not see
Their eyes are always open
No right to declare their own voice
Just
Bones and secrets
