Echoes of Dream

The breath of a thought that fades away,
through cracks of time and fine dust spun,
a whisper pulses, then departs,
like leaves upon the wind, unseen, so frail.
In labyrinths of a memory touched lightly,
the dream dissolves in a puff of air,
a distant echo, which time colors pale,
leaving traces of an illusion gone.
The heart still beats, for but a moment,
amidst broken dreams and hours that fade,
a desire dissolving with the morning light,
leaving only silence of what is not.
And thus in time the dream is lost,
like a thin thread slipping from the fingers’ hold,
only remains the void, the memory,
and the whisper of a time that slips away.