New Flesh Grows
My stubbornness
brought a heavy rain
down upon me,
until I began to rust
and found it necessary
to escape into the desert
where the sun and stones
could melt and strip away
all that was left of me,
leaving just the bones.
Now new flesh grows
on old bones picked clean
by hungry wolves hunting
in the cold, dark night.
New flesh means
new muscle, new skin,
new eyes and ears,
new organs that do more
than feed survival.
“...and your very flesh shall be a great poem...”
This poem was originally shared as part of Brian’s Daily Poems on August 7, 2020.
©Brian Mueller - All rights reserved.
