scribblings of a sunday

delicate dreams quietly dissolve
whispering away as hurried as they came
vapors of if remain in their midst
aching to erase what should have become

now presently pictures of what did evolve
seem perfectly easy and perfectly fake
until suddenly backbones of timetired tries
reveal paper thin bones quite destined to break

promising pity shall be hidden away
since words have been spoken and sentences swayed
now frames of the future show bleakened pathways
and harken forth finally dimmed dismal day