Bony Fingers

Bony fingers reach for the sky 
Trying to grow before they die.
They attempt to escape their mortality
But life possesses a certain duality
For living always comes to an end
Their straight appendages start to bend.

It would be so easy to sit back as life expires
And do nothing but light a funeral pyre.
Instead take pride in crooked stature
For what is humanity without disaster.
Do naught but cauterize these rotted nerve endings, 
Indeed, it is our wounds that that teach us how to do the mending.

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