We pretend such monumental yet ordinary ambitions,
Of proud achievement and remembrance,
Of celebration and wailed mourning,
Of marks to testify to our existence,
And the richness of the lives we led:
'Yes, we were here! Look at us and marvel!
Envy us our boundless aspiration! Be jealous
Of the moons we saw, that hung like lanterns
As we kissed in rapturous love! Learn from us!
That you may live life to the fullest, too!'
We who are destined for dust, just dust;
Cushioning a stranger's footsteps on
Empty highways that snake from place to place,
Between the forgotten and never-had adventure,
Blasted by sun and rain and wind and snow.
We who are destined for dust, just dust;
Scattered across unquiet, ageless oceans,
From gentle, gorse-clad coast to savage shore,
From ragged reef to shingled beach,
From primal memory to noiseless deep.
We who are destined for dust, just dust;
Drifting silently across a thousand
Miles of desert, blown with the sand
On the Sirocco and Hammatan and Simoom,
Tossed high by the hooves of Arab horses.
We who are destined for dust, just dust;
Eternity spent among the clouds, not quite able
To touch more nearly those divine entities
That watch from Heaven and, just occasionally,
Strike the bell of our lonely souls.
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Fragments And Reflections
PoetryPoems looking at everything and anything not in my other collections. Here you'll find life and time, wild oceans and lonely coast paths, busy streets and empty hotel rooms, wild concerts and late night writing. All just fragments and reflections, l...
