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