I stand on the shores and grope the receding waves of time, that engulfed the orange-red sunsets;
I hear a shadow call in a whisper to the pale moon that was a testimony of joy;
The sweep of the desert winds bewail the song of lament and the dunes of sands lapse in the hollows of nothingness;
I feel a touch, but its the dying breeze;
I sense a tear, but its the last breath of the waves;
And the sweetness of passion is but a fragile relic of promises once made;

Moments lost into an eternal past until all that remains is a feeble echo of ache
A void of undone-s: a word unsaid, a feeling unexpressed, an emotion unfelt
All hauled into the melting furnace of time.