Ephemeral Hour

In the twilight's hush, where shadows play, A clock stands tall, its moment fades away. Like sandcastles worn by time's gentle stream, The hours dissolve, a dream within a dream. The bricks of memory, once sturdy and strong, Now crumble, lost in the silence so long. The clock's face, cracked, a mirror to the soul, Reflects the passage, making us whole. In this surreal landscape, where time stands still, We're reminded to cherish each fleeting thrill. For in the melting clock, we see our own fate, A fragile beauty, an ephemeral state. The desert's vastness, a canvas so grand, Echoes the transience of this mortal land. Yet, in the stillness, a truth we find, That time, though fleeting, leaves its mark divine.