When Dust Finally Settles

The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton

We swathe ourselves with gestures of grandeur,
attempting to believe that we are so much more

than parchment-thin flesh and boiling, roiling blood.

We are loosened souls
trapped within arduous skins,

struggling to rise.

We wrap ourselves tightly to protect us
from sulphur visions, fiery essences
that rage beyond nightfall's edge -

we whisper fragrant phrases,
lost in the pretense that life is all

about finesse and endurance.

We dance lithely upon the surface of a surging sea,
ignoring the deep, unfathomable dank brewing below;
we sail swift, bitter currents -

eloquent purges tremble beneath every breath.

When dust finally settles,
we are only remnants of music - 

these silent, beautiful bones, bereft of memory.