Skeleton

My thoughts scrape across the sky,

like a scalpel on old bones.

One that studies and probes.

There were once men who dreamt of flying

Soaring among the hawks.

They dreamt of starships,

Flashing in the depths of undiscovered Space.

They dreamt of exploring the ocean depths

Discovering what lies so hidden.

All those dreams and more they had,

our selves of yesterday.

And then those dreams became reality.

Yet we so often forget that notion,

like old bones scattered

in catacombs.

But if we could elect to dream,

steadily placing them out carefully–

A rib here, a rib there, (one by one!)

The vertebrae aligned —

We would have a skeleton.

We could build so many things.

If we dared.

My dreams scrape across the sky,

like a scalpel on old bones

in attempt to put it all together.