A Dusty Lament

A Dusty Lament

Motes of dust - a prisoner each,
Suspended. Captive. Denied the peace,
Forbidden the grace of passing time,
Nothing ahead and yet nothing behind.

The wind it whispers hope to them,
Lifts them high and then leaves again.
Regardless of hope, in spite of their trust,
For wind is wind and dust is dust.

What is this power the wind does possess,
To capture the dust with a single caress?
Yet maybe the wind has no power as such,
Only what’s granted by each grain of dust.

Another question now comes to mind,
What is it, the dust is hoping to find?
A niche so fulfilling the past fades away, or
The chance to flee, to run from the pain?

Perhaps it's for meaning, a reason for shame,
Or the knowledge that life was not lived in vain.
Whatever the reason this journey began,
Forever it cycles like hourglass sands.

We find that such pain never will cease,
Until we confront it, and anger’s released.
A task best tackled when one’s not alone,
For dust, you see, to depression is prone.

Gathered together by cause or by creed,
It matters not - for us to succeed. For
In standing together, strength we can gain,
To face our demons, to see through our rain.

Next time you see a statue of clay,
Search in your black for a glimmer of gray.
A glimmer of hope in the knowledge that each
Grain within has found some peace.