This space has been far too devoid of poetry lately! :) Here's something new for you, and if you're as mesmerized by the photo below as I am, click it to view the full size shot. Credit goes to FriaLOve on flickr--I just can't take my eyes off that photo, and I think it goes so well with the words below... Here's the poem:

Ash and Dust
Wondering what comes after this.
After the breath has gone,
after the songs have slipped from our lungs.
We are lovers of life,
but what of it
if this is temporary?
Do the confines of space and time
limit the meaning of our life's work?
If catastrophe destroys the written record
of all that we poured our souls into,
does it still matter? Even when unknown?
I believe so. I have to.
The more loved ones I lose,
the less I fear the clammy grip of death.
I cannot see past the granite gravestones,
cannot predict what we'll see when we cross
from one life into the next,
or perhaps even into nothingness.
Still young but worn and weary,
I long to pack this life with good acts,
but at the same time not cling needlessly.
If my father and grandparents have gone,
if my idols and pioneers have passed,
then how can I resist the end?
I have no right to question it.
I am only ash and dust.