Your Dust and Mine
Nov 17th, 2006 by Ree Joy
I ventured into my seething self;
once again, dirt into dirt,
to see, soul to self,
how emptiness welcomed its twin.
I find no scent of pity,
having sought none,
but sought I did, still, to gentle
my caresses of what
remained, torn and mangled
by wanton waste
yet wanting more of the same,
knowing life
was nothing if not for the struggle
to rise above the
muck.
It wasn’t even hope that gentled
my touch, for hope
has become but a joyless word
in the heart of one who has burrowed
his way into the necessities of awareness,
a word coined, yes, but for those
who still believed they were destined
for some greatness,
having been chosen
by some nefarious god
to be its eyes into the chaos of a world.
I know not the road anymore,
if ever I did,
and what words I speak in emptiness,
drop without a clang in the cobblestones
of an uncaring universe.
I am absoulutely alone,
as you are,
and dust to dust we meet,
or drift away,
until your words and mine,
or whatever insight of mine, or yours,
we share today, are, once more,
and again, gone, from ken
and sight, until someone else’s footsteps
in some future time,
tread, in equal ignorance, the dirt
of the ones we’ve left
behind.
you sing a good song of winter, ree.
thank you.
sylvia m.