
These bones lay dry in dirt of clay
Released from flesh, blood and sinew.
Once they were children
They laughed and played.
Once they were adults who loved and were loved.
Now they are bones in dirt,
Left over from when the bombs fell.
This is for a dVerse prompt: Pen us a poem of precisely 44 words (not counting the title), including some form of the word bone.
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Your restraint is what gives this write power Stew. Nicely written 👏
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So much packed in brevity, the dirt and clay, the immensity of the tragedy. Well done, Stew.
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Thanks so much Dora. 😊✨
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My pleasure, Stew! 🙌🙌
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Absolutely heartbreaking. So well shared.
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Thanks so much! 😊
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Stew, it’s a stark reality of all that’s left when someone chooses to drop bombs — rubble and bones. It is a reality some would like to bury under bs, but they will always surface.
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Truth will rise despite being buried under lies. Thanks so much for reading Li. 😊
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You are very welcome.
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A powerful quadrille, Stew. It’s always the innocent who are most affected by war.
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Thanks Kim! It truly is and through no fault of their own.
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You’re welcome, Stew.
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Powerful image, profound loss.
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Truly it is. Thank you so much for reading!😊
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brilliant stew. love the indeterminate amount of time between the bombs and the poem.
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Thank you so much! I’m glad you enjoyed it 😊
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