Listen closely, they said, as the wind murmurs ancient secrets
through the faded leaves of hollowed trees
where once was laughter, now only whispers trace
long shadowed paths in solitude's embrace.
Do you see it?
The fragmented light weaving stories
in prisms only visible
to those who dream awake.
Reality is but a echo of what was
in this spectral realm
between consciousness and the silent sigh
of sleeping stars.