We carve our names into the ground
As if the earth could keep the sound
We build our walls from borrowed stone
And call the borrowed something owned
We count the years against our skin
Mark where we end and others begin
We say this body, this blood, this land
Will answer only to our hand
Mine.
Not mine.
We draw the line.
We turn to dust.
All we claim
Escapes our touch.
We turn to dust.
Every name
Becomes the same.
We guard the borders of our breath
As if possession could stop death
We hold too tight, we tighten more
Until our fingers start to tear
We say this memory is ours
This voice, this love, these final hours
But time is patient in its theft
And leaves us holding nothing left
Mine.
Not mine.
It slips through time.
We turn to dust.
All we save
Will not save us.
We turn to dust.
Every throne
Falls to rust.
The tighter we close our hands,
The faster it falls.
The louder we speak of forever,
The shorter it calls.
We turn to dust.
Claim by claim.
Bone by bone.
We turn to dust.
Nothing
Is owned.
You held the earth like it was yours.
You spoke of forever like it would obey.
You were dust before the claim.
You will return to dust again.