Poem -

Dust

Dust

Myth calls me dust. 
Invasive at best. A coating of
Insignificance in the Grand Design.
Shaken from the feet of heroes. Wiped from
The eyes of travelers, 
A blemish. To be washed. 

Knowledge calls me Stardust,
Everything real and imagined residing in my bones, from
Radiant galaxies to the
Whisper of ancient trees.
I am chaos and glory, infinitely
Moving.
Life's perfect piece.  
 

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