Skull

The skull lies desolate

on the bare mountain side.

Lying among rocks and stones

with a few accompanying bones.

Each day it decays as nature weathers

it and destroys all its form and substance

so that it wastes away and fades into the landscape.

If it had come to rest lower down the mountain

it would have sunk into the boggy peat moss

and risen with hair and hide intact with,

the cause of death discernible, with

its last meal of grass or rabbit

still there inside its stomach.

Preserved by nature.

Preserved or wasted.

It all depends on

where you fall.


First published in With Painted Words, September 2016

http://www.withpaintedwords.com/view_submission.php?news_id=1055