soap bubbles

each new prospect of the future is a soap bubble, shining in a thousand brilliant colors, beckoning all my hopes and dreams to climb aboard. As if not knowing it is going to each and every time, I cast my soul into this beauty. And for a moment it soars, sheltered in the womb of the bubble. But it ends as it must. A burst, a rush of cold air penetrating, a bruised soul bereft of shelter tumbling to the ground amidst a shower of dull sticky soap droplets.