What are clouds, but an excuse for the sky
to feign distance, then dissolve in rain?
What is time, but the clock’s cruel tick
unmasking every hour’s pretense of permanence?
What is laughter, but the mask of grief
grinning behind the mirror’s thin veil?
What is love, but a leap into loss,
a promise sealed, awaiting its shatter?
What is silence, but the breath of sound
pausing to listen to its own void?
What is life, but an escape from death,
a flight of steps leading nowhere—then gone?