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(This is a small poem and I don’t know what made me write it. Clearly, it’s about a person who used to be rich and is now fading away. Maybe I was going for the fact that it doesn’t matter how much you have because we all die and become dust in the end. That or I saw a dusty road at some point.)
He drags his feet
Down the barren road
Wisps of dust
Ebbing off his form
His noble robes
Shredded into rags
Leaving him a husk
Torn by harshest wind
Every step forms cracks
Rising from his heels
Thicker wisps will flow
Until his body fades
Becoming dust within the dirt
Legends of Windemere 
I know you wrote this as a poem, but I can’t help seeing this as the ending to a character in a book. Depending on whose perspective this is, it could either be a prophecy fulfilled concerning someone tyrannical who mistreated others and wound up coming to a lonely ending (like Ebenezer Scrooge would have done had not the ghosts intervened). It also reminds me of a character in Dune whom I will not name to avoid spoilers 😊 The situation was not the same of course. But it came to mind because that story involved desperate plans that came to nothing.
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I can see how it works that way. Definitely has a sense of finality.
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Charles, your poem evokes a sad, but true vision of an ending for many. I’d like to think there could be peace in dying into “dust within the dirt.” 📚🎶 Christine
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Thanks.
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I like the idea of we all end up at the same place. Excellent poem.
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Thanks. 🙂
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It sounds like he is under a curse.
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Definitely has that feel.
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