Shards of the Past

Clutching to the last shreds of the old ghost,
holding so tight you cannot see.
Blindly searching for the very last threads.
Gathering delicate lifelines in,
never checking for anything else in a chaos-tossed world.
Striving to hold onto last bits,
trying to pet, to coax the crumbling into full life once more.
Not looking beyond this goal
or beyond this day or the disintegrating threads of the past.
The last shard shatters and disappears,
last threads fall apart in your hand,
and you have nothing, no holds and no comfort.
Space drifts by and you have no choice but to drift with it.