Dust In Your Hand
A
Allen Steble The Philosophical Poet
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Here today
gone tomorrow
dust in your hand
reminds me of sorrow
blown away
away in the sand
hope is bitter
makes you smile
reality bites
then takes a child
dreams are real
only in your sleep
nightmares die
when death you reap
wake up and see
see what you hold
life is the dust
the dust in your hand
rests in a closed fist
then flies in an open palm
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