The Dust Settles
Little dust particles floating in the streaming sun, are alive with energy, connected by static. I am tormented by a mausoleum I found wandering in a void of fear. I turn the empty pages, one by one. The dust wanders and does not know where to go. How the hours demand I get up and wander myself. We are like dust– we do not understand what is expected of us, and when we settle we are quickly swept away. How is it that we can laugh without laughing, and live without living? We travel around the world only to feel lost and homeless. I close the book and open it again, and with my pen in my hand I fill the dusty void.
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