Hope for the Dead

The wind shudders along a dry landscape of barren wilderness,
The dust flies through the air like a swarm of bees ready to pounce,
They engulf the follower, the traveller, the wanderer, grabbing them in its wake,
The wind slips down wards, round and round the rocks, the hills the curvature moves on...
I'm part of the wind.

The sky lasts forever. It will never slip away.
Just remains. For eternity it will sleep.
Awakening only for a moment, full of roth and rage.
The rest turns to dust, taking the swift movements of the wind with it in a moment.
I'm part of the sky.

The moment can't last forever. It's not like the sky.
We will spin in and out of moments.
Curving, climbing and then crumbling, the moments pass us by, just like the wind.
I'm part of the moment.

Flying sparkles will be what our bodies become. Flitting and dancing through the air,
tiny wisps of dark material

We mean nothing. We're hardly in existence.
We lie in eternal peaceful slumber. Eyes closed, body tightened, curiosity fails in our hearts.
We cannot tell our way, we only know what we have become.
Part of the earth, the fire, the anguish and the creation.

Don't hang on for this.
This pain you feel is just the wind whispering at your shoulder.
Its just the sky looking down on you.
Its just the simple moments passing you by.
I'm just a flying sparkle in soul.
But in your heart I'm a memory.
Precious and True.