“EVEN THE DUST”

As I sat uncertain,
sinking
by the slant
of my own
desperate burden,
even the dust
breathed pity.

Even the dust
washed itself ashamed
it ever bared my name.
Even the dust
was burdened.
Even the dust
begged escape
from such mistakes.
Even the dust
knew better than me.

We sat in silence,
restlessly admiring
one another;
the dust and me,
doing our best
not to stir the other.

narrative poem written on 03-10-2014 by: on mattkane.com
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