• Pardon our dust.
    Forgive our transient, temporary forms
    which shiver and fade in a gust
    strong enough to take them from us.
    Overlook our blind lack of ambition.
    For what fruitless creatures are we
    to have fallen from so grand a tree?
    At first, fleeting glance
    it was only a hint, only a whisper, a chance...
    "You will become something some day."
    God's man in pop music.
    What does that look like?
    What does that even mean?

    Are there seas?
    Oceans full of people
    like floundering fish
    who struggle and sink
    and think that just getting by is enough;
    that a corner of paradise,
    a corner office,
    that a house in the 'burbs is enough for them.
    Gentlemen, I want more...
    because life's too short
    for anything less.

    So what now?
    What great king has called me out?
    What great thing has he seen in me
    to call this life a curiosity?
    To what great task am I bound?
    What a longing this is that dogs and hounds
    my days by day
    and my nights by restless feet,
    sleepwalking awake.
    An endless fate.
    A dark dream which stirs in me
    and stirs me still.

    I wonder well if others see
    the world for all its intangibilities.
    Footfall on chalk lines
    fresh layed across the dew
    testing the measure of a field
    that itself measures the test of a year
    on one day where skill and circumstance yield
    to the roar of a crowd which cheers
    at a game. At entertainment. At face value.
    What worth is there in entertainment?
    What can be gained from a game?
    How can my fifteen change anyone?

    Pardon my dust.
    It's only temporary.
    Renovations are on schedule...
    destruction and construction;
    the building up and tearing down of walls.
    You see, there was a fire
    and it took from us hope.
    And it took from us peace.
    And it took from us time.
    And unlike so many things in this withering world,
    time is in such short supply.

    For we are but dust, even the greatest among us.
    The butchers, the bakers,
    the candlestick makers.
    The fashionable, the frail, and the fraudulent...
    the passionate, the stale, and the obvious.
    And what now?
    What great king calls me out
    to sit among the ashes
    and wonder what happened?