The Book of Dust

We are but fleeting shadows On the impersonal sea of time Footprints washed away in its sands Such traces that we do leave Are found in fading memories And crumbling artefacts. There are those who aspire To be written into the pages of history For cultural immortality Yet we are no more than specks of dust In a swirling boundless universe Minuscule megalomaniacs With a magnificent obsession Clinging to a belief in life without end To give meaning to our existence That final sleep,portrayed as our dream world, is oblivion, pure and simple The ultimate annihilation Remember man that thou art dust And into dust thou shalt return.