Wednesday, May 9, 2012

A poem I wrote a long time ago


 It has been said that everything resolves to dust,
yes dust, the annoying particle that sticks to everything and everyone.
Nothing spared.
Nothing sacred.
Everything began as dust and will end up as dust too.
No matter how much time spent cleaning,
dust will always be there to remind us
That everyone will someday die and
End up being wiped off someone's bookshelf.
This thought frightens many innocent minds
Could this be why we remove dust so diligently,
under the guise of cleanliness?
Unpacking old boxes in the attic,
A cloud of Dust released into the air,
with it comes memories of times past,and premonitions of things to come.
All of this happening during a sneezing fit,
caused by the ancient remains of another time.
In the dust there may be a hint of a favorite grandmother's perfume
Or the sterile smell of medicine,
used to keep grandpa alive despite his allergy to dust.

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