The past and present shift in hue,
A spectrum torn, yet ever true.
The shadows dance in golden trace,
A fleeting ghost in fractured space.

Where time unravels, light unfolds,
A phantom wreathed in dusk and gold.
Each second hums, yet won’t remain,
A pulse of loss, a pulse of gain.

What lingers here between the shades?
What hand still paints where light degrades?
For even night must hold the gleam
Of something lost within the dream.

And though the past dissolves in tide,
Its echoes stay, they will not hide.
For time may pull the world apart,
But light still burns where shadows start.