Life is a poem, a drifting stream,
Icicle dreams in a silver gleam.
Swirly clouds in the sky unfold,
Soft-spun whispers in colors bold.

Morning hums in golden tune,
Dewdrops vanish by the noon.
Breeze that lingers, scent so sweet,
Leaves that dance but never meet.

Footsteps fade upon the shore,
Yet waves return forevermore.
Mountains rise, then crumble low,
Still the rivers onward flow.

Sunlight paints the world in gold,
Night drapes secrets, dim yet bold.
Stars like verses, stitched in light,
Tell of longing, love, and flight.

Time’s a line both sharp and blurred,
Written, erased, then reoccurred.
Nothing stays, yet all remains,
A pulsing rhythm, joy and pain.

Life is fleeting, vast, unknown.
A poem written, yet never owned.