In the chambers of a storm-tossed mind,
whispers of futures never spun,
linger like autumn leaves,
caught in the restless dance of dusk.
Voices unheard reverberate,
from the hollows of yesterday's decisions,
woven into the fabric of long-ago tomorrows,
colored in dissonant harmonies.
A tapestry of muted colors,
threads of gold and silver intertwined,
each a memory not quite forgotten,
an echo searching for a voice.