Joe Breunig
Poem: Dust (Humor)
Those disembodied remnants,
Earthly remains of unknown souls,
are now assembled at my doorstep.
Having piqued my attention,
who are these unwelcome houseguests?
Loved ones or Nordic heroes
who were consumed in funeral pyres?
How old are these molecules
that have been forever scattered
during these past centuries?
Unwanted leftovers of human containers,
eaten by microscopic mites,
nibble at my presence
and wait for my spirit to dry up.
The dust calls for my fated demise;
However, my particles won’t be intermingled.
My segregated ashes have earned me my own space
in the cemetery’s manicured ground.
Thus, no one has to clean up after me.
Author Note:
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
https://truml.com