The void whispers.
silent echoes of yesterday’s dreams dissolve
into the tapestry of unseen
woven threads
of unending possibilities.
Do you remember the ancient clock?
its hands spinning without purpose,
marking not time but the
relentless pursuit of
meaning in absence,
an alchemic ritual
of emptiness?
Thoughts scatter like autumn leaves:
- Did the sun ever rise?
- Which pulse defines rhythm in silence?
- Fabricate yourself anew, through absence