Dust
Dust is carried on a moth
Carelessly thrown into the wind
Even around every bend
The dust, like you knows
Sometimes, even glows;
Just as I feel myself becoming…
Never mind that
A candle burns away like my love,
Carried away with the dust
Into the distance I fade
Away…
Away…
Gone.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| With Love, Yours Truly, Forever and Always | 1 | 10/13/2010 |
| Corporal | 0 | 10/13/2010 |
| Piano | 0 | 10/13/2010 |
| Dust | 0 | 10/13/2010 |
| Repetition | 2 | 10/09/2010 |
| The Night | 1 | 10/09/2010 |
| Paper Thin | 1 | 10/09/2010 |
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