Skeletons stand at the fence
Their eyes watching us as we walk by.
Some are vultures, watching their prey,
Others are deer, their eyes wide with fear.
Their hands reach through the bars,
Trying to touch us, grab us,
And I see their hands draped in skin -
No more than bones and fragile ones at that -
Fragile pieces to remind them of what once was there,
To torture them with the constant flow of memories,
To mock their present state,
To break their pride in themselves.
And here we come with our guns and our uniforms
To rescue them from their fate,
But we draw back from them, repulsed by their features,
Unsure of their existence, just as they are of ours.
Skeletons stand at the fence,
Their eyes watching us as we walk by.
All are confused and unsure and untrusting,
As much so as our own.
