That speck of dust
A speckle of dust,
falls on my arm
and appears be alive
I blew at it
and away it flew
faster than dew
which drips
from trees in the morn
Soon, I find
that indeed
and weirdly so
I am truly part
of the spectacles
that dot
of dust possessed
I dwindled upon
that thought,
one which had me
entranced and bewildered
If I may,
I would learn
someday to free
my soul
from the dark musky
slew of melancholic
existence
and just be
like that speck
of dust to which
we never bother to give a damn.