Footsteps
in the Dust
And so as we
must inevitably fall to rust,
pacify and soothe
all that once was lust,
minds turn on
TV, turn off books,
turn to leaving
footprints in the dust.
For
everything there was a season,
what we once dropped becomes strong reason,
white wooly haired flocks are legion,
our shepherd guides mobs to far regions.
We scythe
through ripe wheat in waves,
gather green
shoots from horizons’ graves,
exit theatres
after act three of five act plays,
to fall from
the edge of all the world’s stage.
Whose footsteps
trample in clumsy horde
those places
to keep us from our Lord
saved and
put by all these twilight times,
think
nothing of motive and less of rhymes.
Yet a watching
wraith who cannot find
peace save
for in his lover’s dancing mind,
knows all we
leave behind becomes us,
just shallow footprints in shadow dust.
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