Lost between the crevices,
are dusts of what have been.
Scampering, trying to hang-on,
palms tensed, brows dripping sweat.
The futility of it all is pitiful,
the innocence has persevered cluelessly,
trudged unknowingly, lost even before it began,
crumbling pillars of sleight.
Armed with shattered pieces,
it was all for naught.
Bleak realization has come,
still desperately clinging, enduring.
For life is such-- everything eventually succumbs,
time is both an affliction and a relief,
possessing and then liberating,
as she slowly fades away.