You may feel as if you are the weight of dust,
You are much more than you think,
The words you say,
The actions you take,
Will make a difference,
In a way you will never know.

The chalky Cliffs of Dover crumble in my fist.
Tucked away neatly in my pocket.
I have the power to become a person completely in control.
The tension seething in my chest no longer.
All I need is the key.
A simple motion not readily accepted by the masses.
'Tis not we who wait for the dust to settle but for the dust to settle we.
The reuptake of life hidden but always near.
We care not for the hands that pass the life from person to person.
For they could be from the grimiest of grim and still our hands are cupped for their foul crooked benevolence.
We are gods and what is purity without the soot and **** and **** to define it.
Synthetic courage and emotional restraint what more could the people want.
Only a few care for the real me, the anxiety, the truth.
Why pander the rest when I have complete control within a plastic seal, tucked neatly in my pocket.

I dwell in this vast world.
Seeing loved one's passing through life.
Believe that my heart can soar above heaven.
Believed that my heart transcend heaven,
Yanking the soul of my people away,
Place them back on earth.
If my heart still lingers on earth,
How could I soar nine heavens above?
If my heart is above heaven,
Why would my heart desire mortal dust below?
Dust to dust, mortal dies,
let begone bygone, cleaning the dust off myself.

The skylight tints the afternoon grey
And some dull, dusty oranges
Perhaps there's fire, somewhere far away
Somewhere far beyond the creaking shelves
The time-varnished brown, rusty door hinges

The air is thicker than the oldest tomes
Sticky as the darkest aisle
Where long-dead spiders once made their homes
Minds caught in paper, minds caught in webs
I think, if I think, I'll sleep for awhile

The purity must be cast aside to see God equal in all people.
For all are unified in station and wealth in rank before God, none more righteous nor more rich than another.
In this case God enriches all of us in our lack and withholds in our fortune.
For none is self-sufficient without Him.
Purity is more about the strength of desire.
It is easy to remain pure when its fires are not enflamed.
What does purity and righteousness hold?
It can only be detachment from the world.
The "world" meaning that which takes us from our Lord.
Is it right to delight in purity?
It seems so empty in a world with so few single women my age that doesn't have kids nor does drugs.
I actually don't even know one. Really.
I'm pure for myself then only?
To delight in my righteousness to only belittle the feeble?
To stand as a noble eunich with the ****** 40 & 50 somethings?
If I'm pure, I have no home in the dust.
I have no friend to share in purity.
Purity is outward.
How do I perceive reality with outward orientation?
Pure ways become my mantra.
Not just chaste eyes, but a pure body.
I become enslaved to worship my own body.
My outer body has no significance to me.
I smoke cigarettes to fight my eyes from transfixing on it.
I postpone workouts until not my body but my energy is in need of vitality.
I tattoo my skin to break the idol of the body.

I cast my line and reel in my bait
I cast my line and it's a snake
I cast my line, a reprobate
How much longer till I break

Patience is not a lesson I care for
I like waiting even less
I say, "that's enough", You say, "there is more"
- I'm breaking, I must confess

Vice on my heart, squeezing out tears
Thoughts are swirling all of my fears
Ripples in the pond spread out from my float
All goes still, there is a lump in my throat

Chin in my hand
Slumped and alone
My pole, unmanned
Heart's monotoned

I have cast in shallow waters
And reeled in dregs
Wandered forbidden corridors
And near lost legs

How much longer must I wander?

I trust You not to tip my boat
Believe You've brought me where I float
You've kept my rod from breaking
But not my hands from aching
It's the catch that I doubt
It's all one endless bout

I'm trying to practice trust
Though my heart's dusted with crust

Fishing, endless fishin'
Waiting on fruition
Fishing, oh, endless fishin'
Perhaps I'll reposition

I think I tire of my brain
Thoughts keep racing around
From wondering I cannot refrain
I try to chain them to the ground

Will love you no matter what
It makes no sense
Each time you expertly cut
A hole through my thickest defense

The way you played me
A fiddle
Was too dumb to figure it out
I'll never understand your riddle
Only hypothesize what you think about

Looked at me
Those enigmatic eyes
The rest of the world faded away
Too bad 'hero' was a disguise
Off at the end of the day

The way lips smiled as wide as the moon
I would approach your side
Opened up my walls for you
In return emotions continued to hide

Stare sautered into my memory
A nostalgic chill I can't shake
Begged and cried a tragic plea
I still drown in endless blue ache

Hope
Home
So far from my sight
I give up finding my way back
Cannot navigate without light
I spin circles around a track

In soul lie pieces of my trust
Promises we tread upon
They'll rest forever
Collecting dust
To you I'm already gone

1.

Swirls of golden smoke rose slowly from my blazing coffee ***. The dusty car at a distance slithered and crawled up the winding road. Sitting in the shack I watched the sand snaking its way up, keeping pace with the car and pelting it with sand particles as if it held a grudge against the driver. I had planned to go dune bashing but for the ominous tone of the desert.

2.

The next day morning remnants of what the desert spat out, the sand particles consume me. I am cloaked with gloves of voluminous dust. I take another sip of coffee. The pungent aroma of the milieu and coffee leaves me breathless. The greens are choked and there is sand art on pavements outside.

3.

I try to remove the sand on my hair as I wipe the aurulent sheen on the window pane.  A bunch of men wipes the dust from the tables and chairs in the opposite shack. An old dusty car crawls to a halt and parks, blaring the music of Led Zepplin.

so the dancing dust bunnies gleam
in the soft light of the noontime sunshine
as it smiles down on me through
smudged second-story windows
bringing with it a reminder that even
the most ordinary everyday moments
can sparkle like stars in the midnight sky