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Your palm gathers me as dust.
I bury myself in the lines of a fingerprint.
You lose all of my trust,
And I cascade away as lint.

Your shovel lifts me;
It packs me down,
More than a few feet,
Below the ground.

Still I weather from world wind,
Erode to new temptations.
Deposition lies in sin,
And in temporary elations.

I fly clueless and wild,
As dust in the wind,
As dirt from a pile,
As I am a sinner, and I've sinned.

I may be a sign of an unkempt abode;
Outsiders may think less of you.
I basically freeload.
You only deserve what's brand new.

Yet you never sweep me away,
You sweep me in,
You carry me through the day,
You let me win.

I am dust;
I am dirt,
Filled with lust,
Filled with hurt.

You make me feel sweet,
When I'm truly sour.
When I cry in defeat,
You help me nourish my flower.

For I am dust in your hands,
Falling to your feet.
Whenever I land,
I'll have an oasis waiting for me.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

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