Dust

It's happening again.

My soul is dragging in the dust.

The works of my hands crumble

Like dried mud castles in the wind.

Glittering jewels are

Only piercing splintered glass.

My once firm, uplifted chin is

Hanging, a tear-path to my heart.

I stare with horror at the crater

In the castle I call my life.

Piling and pressing dirt is useless

Against the steady gusts of sin.

Grasping at every fleeing particle

Hounded by the persistent gale

My agonized voice cries out,

"O, Lord, I am but dust!"

Eternal arms of Love enfold me

Gilding my castle with golden mercy.

Shatterless jewels of God's promises

Adorn the halls no longer bare to sin's blast.

By R. Lynn