Dust caught in the Wind expands and contracts
taking off and landing from the dirt road
source of all worry
Yet leave the shack behind
The broken broom the gossip foyer
the lost little hands of time
Indeed walk on unknowing of the danger and incidents
The peril that could come running back faster than memory
To stone you to death with a love quite misunderstood
and grieve over your body
holding the flag of the broken broom
Indeed trust that the winds of yesterday consume everything
from bad intentions to the open exhibition of loathing
For today may transform your thoughts and feelings
If you choose to befriend it, embrace it and tell it the truth
Ah little is lost my friends except expendable dust
Be the heir of today and recieve it´s inheritance
breathe it´s abundance
The source of all worry belongs in the past
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