The yellow glow has finally gone
And wisps of cotton fall upon the lawn.
Above, the canvas has turned black.
Yet light it does not lack.
The sky, filled with foam, has opened a bit,
And what was hidden, now is lit.
Color has been removed from one's sight;
Left are only shades of black and white.
The ground has become a silver sea.
Whispers are heard from a shivering tree.
Water slows to a stop,
And animals scurry on its top.
Somewhere, something does exhale,
And the breath holds on, despite the gale.
From the lips it is slow to move,
And it clings to the skin with nothing to prove.
But cautiously it moves away,
Because it knows forever it cannot stay.
The last drop of moisture releases its grip,
And the breath now embarks on its trip.
It thinks its free to choose where it goes,
But it's always influenced by the wind that blows.
Moments pass and it holds on strong;
Yet fighting against time, it can't live long.
The tiny cloud hangs motionless in the air.
The moon weaves in its silver, with most delicate care.
The silver suddenly dissapears,
Yet no one will shed any tears,
For this temporary life that did nothing ever,
Since there is not a thing that can live forever.