The grey dust

This poem was something I wrote late at night when I couldn't sleep.

Once upon my travels I came across an old man bathed in dust

He spoke in the voice of the Lost

And beckoned me to walk with him

And so I did

Upon our walk he showed me the great monoliths of centuries past

The heroics of men and women long since dead

And the wonders of bold minds that rotted away eons ago

I remarked at the joyous sights I saw

Paying no heed to the grey dust that surrounded them

And when our walk finally ended the man turned to me and said

“Do remember young one from dust we were made and to dust we shall return”

And then he was gone

Leaving me covered in the march of time

Author's Note

let me know`what ya think

Reviews

[Wes Hart]

Dust as an undertone. I like it.
Monuments and statues are all that is left. The greatness of ages past surrounded by what others have accomplished. All is dust.