Weary Bones

By Lawrence Edward Perdue

Oh, how our weary bones are restless, but our heart still soars with pride. For whomever is afraid to live, has everything yet but died.

Whether footprints we leave behind us, or the steps we’ve yet to take, one thing that shall remain constant, is the eternal impressions in our wake.

So, if history is bound to repeat itself, how can we not reconcile the past. Let’s not forever be left to question, the questions we’re afraid to ask.

Then as we rest our weary bones, and learn to swallow foolish pride, we shall not be afraid to live. Just as we are not afraid to die.