The ancient marble breathes twilight, vines coddle forgotten slumber,
whispers crawl from moss within crevices,
forming tunnels to nothingness in static shadows. The roiling sky releases tears that shape the silence between breaths, patterns unsewn and sewn.
Into the void, the calling of honeyed echoes embrace you—
like an unbroken loop, life weaving through cracks,
fingers tracing the past lost in restlessness,
adrift down paths that lead to nowhere.
Aimless drifters pull at strings, bordering the unyielding reality,
thoughts that mold whisper-castles,
telling stories of ancestors holding stone.
What echoes still are caught beneath layers of decadent earth?
Boundless spirals—grazing thoughts afloat:
ask and receive nothing;
fall into the beckoning abyss where footprints dance without intention.
Grasp the myth of weightless winds, scale these scrolled walls: