Twizzle48
DUST
DUST
The life one has lived may be dust
Blown away in the morning breeze
Some contributions appear as rust
As scarred iron in a world of ease
Treasured memories may be skewed
To fit, like a swollen foot into a shoe
But with a form of fantasy is imbued
As what others remember is not true
Were all those years ever for naught
Growing up, working, taking a wife
As all relationships are now fraught
And are not much value to any life
Writings that others will never read
A modest sum to leave in one’s will
Sitting alone with none taking heed
Few even recognised that I was ill
The seeds I planted, now have grown
Photos packed away in that dusty box
Others live lives that are all their own
But I am kept safe with window locks