The Valley

I cannot tell you how many years
I have struggled to become new,
how long it took me to learn to die
before I mastered the art of living.
I was in the valley of dry, broken bones,
deafened by flesh sagging, blood spilling,
and rendered immobile by the silence of trees.

Ten years later, I’m a body without eyes,
watching the decay of my heart and soul;
I turn and watch my corpse spiral
beyond the control of my spirit;
if my will is no longer human and I’m a body,
it’s only the husk that I have left behind
when I ascend to Heaven at the end.

This mortal flesh will stare down at the valley,
where bones rankled, muscles snap spellbound,
I will not return to these dead memories.
I know I shall not carry this old skin along
where light is the only darkness I will see,
neither hunger nor desire will cradle me
into buying memories at the expense of joy.