Dust Soldiers

There comes a time
a time at last
when I will come to find
that my time is last

Please don't think that my thoughts are crazy
I'm simply writing those fragments
that come and go like the whisping dust
like a swirl amongst an abandoned room
the wind stirs it and them

I feel there is a fire in my bones
that compels me to speak, to create
that which is unseen to all but myself

Truth is that life has a number of things
that are not particularly pleasant to do
there are quite a few of these ahead just now
and I will move them back even further
into the recesses of time to do another thing
a thing that is perhaps more important
time will testify

The nerves, the body it resists the now
the worry and heaviness, they are chains
but perhaps these chains are useless and already unlocked
we just have yet to throw them off

for we have forgotten the weight of our limbs
when they are unbidden

Why make life about something it is not?
Chasing the things which will fade
such a ridiculous fate
yet we choose it ourselves

Our task is simple
we will make it difficult

yet perhaps in glimpses the truth is revealed
the thing which we are actually here for
and not that made by man
and the glimpse drives us forward
to the do The Great Work
and turn a page in The Great Story

Incredibly broken
these silly toys are
six billion and counting

I feel the crank which should work
but does not
I feel the joints that are rusted
what worth am I

And yet, I am here!
and this statement does cry
that I have yet more to do
and so I will move my next foot
and the one after that
as I have done before

one raindrop after another
and eventually the flood