Where do they go,

When they drift off the tips of my fingers?

Hushed secrets enclosed in their glossy surface,

Light reflecting off at the oddest of angles,

Floating away,

Bursting at any sudden contact.



All the hopes,

All the dreams of that bubble,

Gone.

Sunken into a nothingness abyss,

To never have been heard.



To never have been understood.

Lost forever.

Perhaps though,

That bubble held the mystery of life.

Maybe it had all the answers.



With a silent whisper,

I scream to the skies,

Why the bubble?

But I, as the bubble was, am not heard.

My voice carried away by the same winds that broke the mysteries.