A Poem For The Road
You are dust and unto dust you do belong
Stare at these items of worship
Tell me what you see
Scars; badges of honor or defeats; shrill cries from the great beyond
Do you see knocked knees and crooked claws?
Painted toes or fresh flesh flavored for frolicking?
Measure not your worth with bent cups
Pour not your oil into broken jars
Do not break what you cannot mend
You are a treasure not a hurriedly wrapped parcel
Your legs are bronze-faced guards, sentries shielding the pearly gates
O god, do not part your thighs for miscreants
Your temple is to be worshiped and your heart un-desecrated
Come. See! Your shadow is fleeing. Brigands have swallowed your sun, ill-lit spaces leaving you vulnerable and naked
Your sun-kissed lips are no longer warm, they taste of regret and failed dreams of yesterday
What will happen to these pillars holding your frail frame?
Sit. Sit still. Sit still on a seat
You are royalty
You are still dust.