Vapor Poem by John Prophet

Time, it
moves.
It
moves into
nothing.
Nothing
at all.
Tomorrow is
nothing.
Can't
touch it,
smell it,
or see it.
Tomorrow's
just a
concept,
not tangible.
Time,
once past
leaves
vapor,
ghosts
fading images,
feels,
smells of
what past.
Vapors
slowly
dissipating,
losing resonance.
Fading away.
Gone!
Now, an
infinitesimal
moving from
nothing to
nothing.
Leaving
vapor,
dissipating
vapor in
its wake.