Echoes in the Dust

A clock ticks soft behind the wall,

Its voice too faint to catch it all.

Yet still it speaks, in steady tones,

Through quiet rooms and aging bones.

A coffee cup, still faintly warm,

The sunlight shifting like a storm

That’s lost its will to rage or rain—

Just drifting light, just passing pain.

The photos fade in frames askew,

Their edges curled, their colors true

To lives once lived in laughter's glow,

Now flickering like candle's low.

The hallway creaks, the door sighs shut,

A memory stirs inside a rut—

Of childhood games and midnight snacks,

Of years that never once looked back.

We chase the future, clutch the past,

But never catch the moment fast.

It slips, it slides, it disappears,

And leaves its echo in our years.

Still, time will go, and we will too,

But footprints mark what we walk through.

A breath, a smile, a gentle trust—

All lingers on in echoes… dust.