Like dust that gathers in the cracks between old house floor boards
Each particle Languish, forgotten, ignored
Seldom, acknowledged, never though, completely forgotten
Those dust ghost’s, forlornly, waiting to be recognised.

Years, even lifetimes, decades, ebb away
Never to know their past
Minute, detritus particle, dust.
To you  and me, they cover the floor, of life.

A world, once vibrant, now so long ago
Turgid ambitions, once eager, now lost
Just dust, skin flakes, and more
Lying dead in the cracks of those old wooden floors.

Cry not, for those lost forgotten souls
They have left their dry mark,
Mites, and small insects, inhabit much dust
Inhabited buildings collect –

The dust of life.

Mike.