The Book of Dust
We are but fleeting shadows
On the impersonal sea of time
Footprints washed away in its sands
Such traces that we do leave
Are found in fading memories
And crumbling artefacts.
There are those who aspire
To be written into the pages of history
For cultural immortality
Yet we are no more than specks of dust
In a swirling boundless universe
Minuscule megalomaniacs
With a magnificent obsession
Clinging to a belief in life without end
To give meaning to our existence
That final sleep,portrayed as our dream world,
is oblivion, pure and simple
The ultimate annihilation
Remember man that thou art dust
And into dust thou shalt return.
Copyright © Denis Bruce | Year Posted 2019
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