Beneath the twilight canopy, whispers grow loud,
trees of sound bear fruit not meant for the unwise.
A rustle, a spoken mantra, void yet full of promise.
Can you decipher the noise that benefits itself?
Beware the tree that grows in your hearing.
Its roots tap unseen veins of celestial noise,
poison disguised as a sonorous guide.
Follow the silent path to the dawn,
where clarity meets illusions of gentle echoes.
Listen, and see the unseen hearers listen back.