Vapor

poem by: John Prophet
Written on Mar 09, 2019 

Time, it
moves.
It 
moves into
nothing.
Nothing 
at all.
Tomorrow is
nothing.
Can’t 
touch it,
smell it,
or see it.
Tomorrow’s 
just a
concept, 
not tangible.
Time,
once past
leaves 
 vapor,
ghosts
 fading images,
feels,
smells of
what past.
Vapors
 slowly
dissipating,
losing resonance.
Fading away.
Gone!
Now, an
infinitesimal 
moving from
nothing to
nothing.
Leaving
vapor,
dissipating 
vapor in 
its wake.

 

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