Thus Speaks The Dust Poem by Nicanor P. Tiosen

We are the children of the dust.
Like our forebears, here we stay
trodden under foot for centuries -
by men, both shackled and free.

Judge us not for what we're worth -
there's more to us than meets the eye;
A speck, a dot is more than enough
to make hardened mortals wince and cry.

Measure not the extent of our domain,
you'd be surprised to see;
We sit on thrones in great palaces
like any royal majesty.

Unnoticed, we pile-up high o'er shelves
and nooks that do not matter;
Swept out of doors we never cease -
for again we're left to scatter.

Yes, we thrive to remind one and all -
both famous and unknown:
That man indeed is from the dust
and unto dust shall he return.