Anthology Part 1: EmergenceMature

My poetic roots... from the tumultuous ages of 14-17. These are the words that, no matter how awkwardly written, I love probably more than anything I've written as an "adult."

Dust

We are dust, and to dust we shall return.
And one day we all will learn
We are dust, we are no one,
And no one can ever save us.
Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust...

On the field of dust and sand
Blows a gust of wind.
Dust covers the land
From the dust forms a child,
And from the child grows a man.
And the dust in his eyes impedes his vision as he stares toward the sun.
But the light from the sun, he cannot see, so he turns his back to run.
But as he turns he can feel her presence there
And he drags his fingers through his hair
When he can't decide if she's really there
Because he's blinded now and it's hard to trust
When your heart is made of dust.

On the field of dust and sand,
Another gust of wind.
As far as the eye can see
All the dust becomes a child
And the child becomes me.
And the dust in my throat rusts my voice as I sing out to the sea.
But the sea hears only a static sound so I turn my back to leave.
But as I turn I can see them gathered near
And I feel a rush of panicked fear
When I shout to them and they cannot hear
Because I'm choking now and it's hard to trust
When your heart is made of dust.

On the field of dust and sand,
One last gust of wind.
And as the wind is racing through,
From the dust is born a child
And the child becomes you.
And the dust in your mind stops your thoughts as you gaze up to
the stars.
But you can't remember the reason you live so you slowly fall apart.
But as you close your eyes you can hear us march
And someday you won't be so in the dark
But you can't remember just who you are
Because you're falling now and it's hard to trust
When your heart is merely dust.

We were dust, and to dust we have returned
And our bodies have all been burned.
We were dust, we were nothing
And nothing ever became of us.
Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust.

The End

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