No more

No more than a speck of dust

upon the fleeing moment,

No more than a silent breath

upon the wind,

no more than a forgotten seed

that breasts the unforgiving earth,

no more than all the words

that lie unsaid.

For this is life, and this is how

the moments draw and creep,

when hope and meaning

hide themselves away,

and dare to taunt that all

is nought but shadow,

that who I am is fantasy and dream.

And yet each speck of dust

is borne on dreams,

and silent breaths can carry

words across the world,

while seeds that strive through soil,

or stone, to reach the sun

will always speak of God,

of life, of love.