Saturday, September 29, 2012

No more

No more than a speck of dust
upon the fleeing moment,
No more than a silent breath
upon the wind,
no more than a forgotten seed
that breasts the unforgiving earth,
no more than all the words
that lie unsaid.
For this is life, and this is how
the moments draw and creep,
when hope and meaning
hide themselves away,
and dare to taunt that all
is nought but shadow,
that who I am is fantasy and dream.
And yet each speck of dust
is borne on dreams,
and silent breaths can carry
words across the world,
while seeds that strive through soil,
or stone, to reach the sun
will always speak of God,
of life, of love.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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