I Am But Dust And Ashes Poem by Patti Masterman

I am but dust and ashes;
Dust of whirled dust, and ashes from wasted worlds.
Dead universes of dusty relics, the dust shook down
From the first creatures footsteps, from a bird's dust bath,
From a cyclone in a dust-bowl.

Cooled embers from the fires that consumed
Entire forests and cities, to ashes floating on the Ganges,
Ashes from prehistoric campfires, ravenous fires consuming all-
Leaving everything only ashes behind, in a wasteland of dust.

When ash burns down the length of a cigarette
Which falls to the ground, glowing and then goes out,
To lie quiet and still, framed within the dust there,
It restates the normal condition
Of every living creature ever born.

Or- alternatively-
For my sake, the world was created.

Which stone will it be?




A man should carry two stones in his pocket. On
one should be inscribed, ‘I am but dust and ashes.’
On the other, ‘For my sake the world was created.’
And he should use each stone as he needs it.
—Rabbi Bunam