The idea of the dust of the earth continuly moving, shifting,
The granite fissures in earth’s skin slowly drifting,
The ground I’m standing on will be gone, and lost,
Reshaped, or blown away, my world is will be tossed.
And I need to hold on, but the earth is not stable,
If my part of the world is not permanent, then how am I able?
Would forever mean learning to jump on shifting sands,
Swimming in the rushing time, letting the dust slip from my hands?