Dust

The wanderer follows

No hallowed path

Set forth for her

By the sagacious few.

Nor does she live

To build her past

For far off futures

Whose seeds are sewn.

No familiar face

Has she ever seen

That greets her where

She decides to sleep

But travels with

The wind in her hair:

The only companion

She chooses to keep.

All empires return

To dust that birthed

Them from the nothingness

Of barren ground,

And push the ambitious

To build them tall

For fleeting futures

On foundations unsound.

Such men still laugh

At one like her

Who possesses nothing

In their eyes,

And lives in chaos

Of shifting destiny

With no respect

For human lies.

But no future goal

Controls her fate

Nor worldly tethers

Bind her past

So she is free

To contemplate

Her relation to

The earth so vast.

She is the dust

from God’s fingers

that’s fallen on

Ungrateful land

And shows the blind

And sinful people

Their origin from

The present at hand.

They deride and mock

Or at best ignore her

And value what God

Did not confer

But she is more

than the earth and sky

And none can take

What belongs to her.

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