Sometimes our thoughts chase each other <br />Like dust devils, twirling <br />Growing with harried friction. <br /> <br />Clinging to the empty husk of fear, <br />Gaining mass at the speed of conjecture, <br />Rising on inexplicable warm winds. <br /> <br />And just as suddenly, collapsing into the nothingness <br />Of dust, from whence they rose <br />As soon as cool winds blow in. <br /> <br />Oh those wicked dust devils <br />Plague thoughts, and <br />Don’t let us see clearly.<br /><br />Anita Atina<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dust-devils/
