The Restless Wind
All that will remain will be dust
on the futile crying wind.
We will all turn to dust
as our words crack and dry
blown far from our thoughts
by the always restless wind.
All we have is the dry cracked heat
and the empty silence of wind-blown words
that say nothing, as nothing can be said
now that the days are empty of all
but the heat and the dry dead wind
that never stops blowing our restless dust
across these plains that were once
the hills and green raining valleys
where we knew our ordinary lives.
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