Death of Dust

Death of Dust

You feel
No remorse
Your errors compiled
Into dust so high
They look like books
Spooks
The same sentences
The same feelings
As pages turn
Loose specks recall
Sprawled bodies
From the past
Slathered
With moth-eared words
Deep crevices filled
With fungus-covered lips
The bee-sting
Becomes a bee-hive
Making a home
In eyes
Honey drips
Translucent and thick
All is seen
Through a golden haze

The sun bursts
In the face
Clouds gather to hone
Loud thundering sobs
Time to mourn
You laugh
A wild laugh
And wrestle with
Another pair of hands
Guilt has died inside you
A long while ago

Your freedom walk
Takes you along a knoll
Wet toes
Prod the grass
Feet touch mud
A buried bottle
Is uncorked
With teeth
You drink
The wine
Colour of water
Dry as bone
Tongue on fire
Swirl it round your mouth
The bottle falls
You look up at the sky
And count sunbeam stains
Left behind

As you move
The pieces pierce you
You smile
At the crimson trail
On dewy grass
Like tears of glass
You come out unscathed
Brush off the soil
From your sole
And sing a paean
To a soulless life
Even dust has died

~FV

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Painting: Death and the Maiden by Hans Baldung Grien