Ephemeral things.

The beauty of the sunset is ephemeral,
Yet, it leaves an impression on one’s soul.

The beauty of a rainbow is ephemeral,
Yet, it lingers— a reverie in flight,

Why, then, are beautiful souls so brief?
Do they burn too fiercely, too brightly?
Does the world drain their essence,
Leaving only echo in night?

Are ethereal things not meant to stay?
In this dreadful, weary, sphere?
Was it just a dream?
Was it just like a dream?