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Sunday
Aug022015

Dust to Dust

Some among us have the wordsmith skills to weave a prismatic piece in which differing perspectives can find a connection. A friend has done just that with this poem.


Dust to Dust


by R. Hal Watson
© 2015 by R. Hal Watson, all rights reserved


I am but dust with feet of molded clay,
sprung from the ground as surely as my food.
And destined to return there some fine day.
Why then speak of evil, or of good?

I sing of life and love, of longing lust,
sprung from the heart as surely as my blood.
And fated to confer my voice to rust,
but still I sing and ride this spirit-flood.

Sip the wine, my friend, while it is day;
this warmth of sun grows cold as comes the night.
Forget the past for it no more has sway.
Forget the future once you thought so bright.

Time moves swiftly, people are but grass.
All our beauty fades as does a flower.
The grass then withers as the flower fades;
the breath of life affords us but an hour.

I am but dust with feet of molded clay,
sprung from the ground where I obtain my power.
And destined to return there some fine day.
To spring forth living roses with a shower.


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