Sonnet: the Dust Or the Wind
Dust in the wind, are we, it is opined
To be blown about then lost without a trace
Or clay moulded by other's hand and mind
Lives planned and crafted then put in our place
Contingency: not ours nor ‘scribed to us
We live not cause, from being author, flee
'So don’t blame me, but throw Him neath the bus
Let's go through life in unencumbered glee’
Would be conceit to say we may be cause?
Assert the artist's hand is thine and mine
As spirits take our godliness off pause
Should now but try to imitate divine?
And then perchance may recognize: we must
Be wind that generates and blows the dust
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