Dust

Another poem for you this week. I guess it’s about tiredness, but a different tiredness to the usual yawning sleepiness. It’s more of an ache that won’t go away and follows you through every single day until the smallest task becomes a challenge and you have no idea why. Anyway, here’s the poem!

Dust

It is an eternal ache
which seeps past body;
it becomes soul,
without asking permission
or extending a greeting–
no, it knows no politeness,
this awful dust.

It will hold my hand,
as it drives a knife
between the plates of my spine.

Blame it for dead mornings
and deader nights.

It forces my eyes open,
as I lie, waiting, for sleep,
but it doesn’t care for function.

I don’t know where it comes from,
or where it rests during dull moments
when it forgets me; all I know
is the haunting it commits to,
of my mortal body
and the immortal soul
and any other part of me that it can find.

It knows me as I do not know myself,
and destroys mysteries I have not solved–
taking the clues one by one,
it reduces all to dust.

Enjoyed the poem? Why not check out Our Paused World or Aleatory Poetry?

(They’re my poetry collections! Available on Amazon!)

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