Dust

Faded and gray speckles a used face. A dull sheen, an aged expanse, are neglect's resentful styles. The particles settle and congeal, stilled in death, shrouding freshness. Withered is the room that houses these.

And yet, and yet.

A solitary streak dispels the stupor. It glares from the scene, parting the deadlands. What a trail it makes amidst the rot. A showy core peeps from beneath. See its youth brazenly shout, "I have beauty still!"

Recapture clarity, idle souls!

As we wipe the dust away and toss our years aside.

Our fears greet us,
Our joys reclaim us,
And the dappled veil,
Slowly shifts.