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The world's decay where the wind's hands have passed, and my head, worn out with love, at rest in my hands, and my hands full of dust.
-Ted Hughes
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The World's Decay Where The Wind's Hands

Ted Hughes
The world's decay where the wind's hands have passed, and my head, worn out with love, at rest in my hands, and my hands full of dust.
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Dust Hands Wind

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Gather out of star-dust, earth-dust, cloud-dust, storm-dust, and splinters of hail, one handful of dream-dust, not for sale.
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Towns are full of people, houses full of tenants, hotels full of guests, trains full of travelers, cafés full of customers, parks full of promenaders, consulting-rooms of famous doctors full of patients, theatres full of spectators, and beaches full of bathers. what previously was, in general, no problem, now begins to be an everyday one, namely, to find room.
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And we passed through the cavern of rats. and we passed through the path of boiling steam. and we passed through the country of the blind. and we passed through the slough of despond. and we passed through the vale of tears. and we came, finally, to the ice caverns.
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Time is a lot of the things people say that god is. there's always preexisting, and having no end. there's the notion of being all powerful-because nothing can stand against time, can it? not mountains, not armies. and time is, of course, all-healing. give anything enough time, and everything is taken care of: all pain encompassed, all hardship erased, all loss subsumed. ashes to ashes, dust to dust. remember, man, that thou art dust; and unto dust thou shalt return. and if time is anything akin to god, i suppose that memory must be the devil.
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