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Dust
- Aug 1
- 1 min read
by Scott Schuleit
The leaf obeys its Creator,
wavering its green in the tireless,
unfailing wind.
And the sky
continually bears
on its immense back,
a burden of blue.
And when a storm comes on
the clouds darken,
weaving together without question,
and from this,
lightning looses its silver,
its flicker and flash,
always obeying
with sudden bursts of illumination.
The rain falls willingly,
dropping down
to pummel dry earth,
mixing it into mud
as it should,
a task performed
without hesitation,
yet the dust,
that which is most blessed,
crowned over all creation,
burns,
burns with a rage
deep in its breast.



