In the field of starlit bones,
beneath shadows of unseen eyes,
a language once breathed,
now traces the silent stones. Can you hear it? The murmur
of words wrought in dreams
that drift beyond faded moons,
unsaid, untold, unknown.
A tongue forged in the space between,
where whispers venture — verbose wanderers
caught beneath weeping eaves,
leaves dancing on forgotten breezes. Shall you speak them? Each syllable a chain,
linking eternity’s gaze to
a moment lost to dust and fire,
penned in the silent scroll of hearts.
Flicker, flicker, linger
as the inkless words float, spheres
in an echo that was only a sigh,
the light snatched by shadows,
a portrait of voices carved in silence
illuminated by that which is the
absence of light—a memory
ensconced in the dew of tomorrow’s dawn.