Gone.
Faded has the clock become
Ticks, slower and slower
Numbers , faded
Stuck would be a word
Alas, to be stuck is to be somewhere
Nothing.
A glance would tell
Something is amiss
As they say:
"Something can come from nothing, but can nothing come of something?"
Traces.
What are traces
Something showing that nothing is left
If even nothing has left
Then is nothing left
Sure.
That thing that is left IS nothing
That must be what it is
But if nothing leaves, what remains
Wisps.
Details of a thing not forgotten
Forced out of being
Begging to be Seen.
Heard..
Felt...
Shimmers.
Dancing on the outline of an unsuspecting eye
Illusion to the present
Fact of the past
Light that should have long went dark
Still shining on the edges of abyss
Dreams.
Places of fiction and fixation
Moments scantily held together
Be it by Love, Passion, Trust, Lust, or Longing
Hate, Resentment, Fear, Anxiety, or Disdain
Captured in ones mind and soul
Begging to be released into reality
If only for a moment...
Wisps of a Shimmer of a Dream