We are like ants
Specks of dust
If you will,
Put on this earth
To procreate
And Pay the endless bills.
Eternal vacuum cleaner
Pulls us all
On the final day,
Who aims the hose?
It's the almighty I suppose
Who has the final say.
Maybe it's the dark angel
Sweeping with hellish dustpan
And satanic broom,
Alongside cigarette butts
And sticky chewing gum
This speck is full of gloom.
Life, its cards dealt
From embryonic pack
It's like a busted flush,
Blurry vision
And aching joints
Daisies are starting to push!
We're just dust
Like scurrying ants
Running about 'til we die,
So, whether I'm burned
Or in a casket buried
My speck of soul will float about in the sky.
Phil Hall May 2014
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