In the depths of silence, where echoes fade,
Lies a sonnet encased in the time-dust braid.
Words fossilized like amber in resin,
Speak of worlds lost, and a future unbidden.
Shall I compare these remnants to the stars?
Or measure their worth in ancient memoirs?
Embedded within the layers of rock,
Lies the voice of a poet, frozen in shock.
For every syllable a century weeps,
As thoughts preserved in abyssal depths sleep.
The ink on parchment, a memory's tomb,
Awaits the dawn light to dispel its gloom.