December 3, 2015

Made of Dust


We think they're gone,
but they're still here,
though we can't see them,
disguised as people
we can't quite place,
hidden in the shadows
of a face.

They think we're sad,
our behavior weird,
especially now
they've disappeared.
Their only mystery 
lies in us,
clinging to a life
made of dust.

They wonder if
we'll be coming soon,
why we stare
at the moon,
when countless other
rooms await,
each holding the secret
to our fate.