Beneath the velvet exchange of stars
where shadows hang tendrils upon the light,
you steal your breath upon the edge.
This silence, heavy with echoes of past voices,
implores you to dismantle the unseen tapestry.
Threads velvet, blackened in gold, unravel in your hands.
Listen to their call
Time, that relentless sculptor of eroding facades,
dances in clasped refrain around fractured alleys.
Valise in hand, you gather antiquities of thought,
bespeckled by memory's dew—pale orchids, dust
settled upon mirrored glass, weep.
Find the forgotten
Underneath where thin mosques of entropy rise,
the moon hangs like a detached synapse,
firing nothing but relentless, cumbersome dreams.
The waiting game continues with no players in sight,
specters huddle, cradling the hopeless vintage cup.
Gaze upon its reflection