Ephemeral Hourglass

In the vast expanse of time, a moment melts away, Like wax in a furnace, it loses its shape and sway. The clock, a symbol of our mortal frame, Drips with the weight of memories, like sand in an hourglass's frame. The Roman numerals stand as sentinels of old, Guarding the passage of moments, young and cold. The hands, like skeletal fingers, point to the fleeting hour, As the clock's face, a canvas, reflects the beauty and the power. In this surreal landscape, where time is fluid and free, The clock's decay is a reminder of our own mortality. Yet, in its melting form, we see the beauty of release, A letting go of the rigid, the embracing of the unknown's peace. The colors dance, a kaleidoscope of hues, As the clock's essence merges with the desert's gentle Muse. In this dreamlike scene, we find the truth of our own design, A reflection of our hopes, our fears, our hearts' deepest sign.