As you are, we once were.
As we are, you will be.
Dust —yes— but so much more:

The breath you held, though you wanted to speak—
confess—scream—profess—
    why didn't you?
is with us now.
From your lips: a gift, permeating
to trees, who never once knew your kindness,
in time.

The blood that trickled through your veins,
but rarely ran red,
is with us now.
Percolating, then coarsing, roaring
  like it never did in you
through rivers and streams hidden from the sun.
It evaporates, and falls gently, now,
over lands, you only might have seen
in time.

Your sinews and muscles that atrophied
when you forgot that you were living, too,
are with us now.
Not as carrion, torn by raptors
  (nothing so romantic)
but churning softly, through soil and silt
into dust —yes—
in time.

We have plans for every part of you,
the purpose that eluded you,
when you step out of time.