SCATTERED REMAINS

A FEW SCATTERED REMAINS.
 
 ...and as the cold wind blows dark into your face,
an onslaught of ice hitting you,
the cold dry atmosphere settles in,
as peaceful as an agitated meditation.
 
 Did you watch it all go, from the shadows, from the corners of your eyes?
You saw nothing, noticed nothing, felt nothing.
Did you watch it wither away piece by piece, little bit after little bit,
falling away into fragments, sucked away by the wind,
taken further and further away from you?
 
 The past now an erased path full of ghosts and apparitions,
 you can't tell whether it was ever real,
now feeling vaguer than a dream,
even the few scattered remains now dissolving into dust,
a faded memory chased by an exhausted runner,
blowing away in the wind.
 
 You walk over your own grave: cobwebs and mistakes,
regrets and boasts, but gone, never coming back,
it slips out of your hand like sand into a vortex.
You grab at the few scattered remains,
screaming back at you for existence.