as the wind blows

blowing across skies
the dust of the past laying
claim to the future

precious life

life is so fleeting
flowers that bloomed in summer
now no more than dust

buried in thoughts

observing stillness
I gather more thoughts than dust
this cold autumn day

once more than dust

poor moth, touched by hands
you crumble to dust and fade
when blown in the wind

finding a comfort zone

like dust in the wind-
with time, doubts eventually
set on familiar ground

jealous of the sun

hauntingly, the wind
paints an orange veil of dust
to conceal the sun

more and more

drawn by beauty I have yet to see
filled with dreams of what should be
my heart now with shadows beat
ignoring what lies beside my feet

no time to spare for what is there
of what I have I fail to care
though what I seek is vague to me
from its claws I can’t be free

in my soul its dug so deep,
that peace eludes me in my sleep
these desires shape my mind
to make a restful moment hard to find

driven by desire for more and more,
my heart grows rotten at the core
convinced of needs I care not for
to only gather dust at deaths door

what foolish games I choose to play
for with what I gather I cannot stay
so easily bored with what is mine
how sad I covet what is thine

Tears blowing in the wind

Tears flowing in the wind,
Dust taken for a spin.
All around me they dance,
Wherever I glance.

Swaying gracefully they fall,
Merciful they are small.
Not for them a thudding crash,
As they never arrive in a flash.

Arriving constant, light and gentle,
This can drive me mental.
Accumulating in a pile,
Doing it with some style.

Never ending dust in air,
All day long at them I stare.
I wonder from where they come?
They are even on my thumb.

Seeing dust, can bring me tears,
Fed up cleaning all these years.
Hope they’re gone by light of day,
As I need some time to play.