I am dust.
Blown by the wind
And rained down
By evaporated seas,
And flowing
And glowing
And starting
A sneeze.

I am dust.
Just a tiny piece
Of earth,
Just a flying piece
Of rock,
not steady,
But ready
for permanent
Change.

I am dust.
Not now,
But always,
And important
Through all days
Like Saturn
Or Plato
Or Gods
On walls.

I am dust.
And as dust flows
And as wind blows
And as my
Soul beats
With ashes,
I will
Forever be
Dust.

The body's still breathing, but I'm not quite alive,
A soul in standby, simply trying to survive.

When writing about oneself
ceases to scratch that awful
self-absorbed itch,

and the heart realizes
that writing about others
and what they've done to us
is the same itch masked
in a fresh disguise,

the trail of words
leads away from "I"  --

   like breadcrumbs
   dropped at intervals
      for poetic feet
         to follow --

            -- at last finding the untamed

where one is more than a mouthpiece
for sorrow or rage,

   for ignorant opinion or
       self-righteous argument  --

where the horizons are bounded
not by fear but imagination --

The irony: what one keeps thinking about,
one keeps thinking about
convinced that integrity depends
on never letting go.

Egotism
fettered by a soul
feels sorriest for itself.

But what is the answer when people have died
and why is the question still asked at this time
We've *learned to be human in so many ways
attacking the Spirit and numbering days
We've broken the sky yet we beg for the sun
it shines without choosing, on everyone
We're made of the same down to every cell
let's stop drawing lines to put others through hell
The skin on our bodies was beautifully made
akin to the soul we were given in faith
Remember beginnings as endings to come
although they come slowly but hasten for some
As people we're called to be servants of those
who enter our circle when nobody knows

you don't need to be drinking to reveal a sober thought
the words are there inside you if you're not afraid to talk
We have too little time to be offended by ourselves
so throw away the bottle and forget there was a shelf
Let time be your instructor, it will whittle down with you
and show you something greater in a way you cannot do
I've read the twelve believers and considered all their words
they're either all too certain or completely all absurd
so let us make decisions with a judgement of our own
give wholly unto others we may never even know
The point is we've been fighting for a point we've tried to make
but loaded every message with a fountain of mistakes

I want to die together when the time has come in due
for I have come to notice every piece of me in you
we've always been a team and fought the battles as they came
we've weathered every storm and washed our sorrows in the rain
you let me be your future and I let you shed your past
we dignified each other, may these glories breathe their last
the more I am suspended all the more I am assured
this life is something sacred when I understand rebirth
I may have been your child once but grew to be your friend
and in my latter years I made a choice: until the end
three inches never mattered, I could never let you go
my faith is like your name, together we are going home