Beyond the placid veil of slumber,
where echoes of silence hum melodies of the past.
Have you pondered,
whether tomorrow dances on the edge of the mindscape?
The clock speaks in tongues,
its ticks unraveling threads of forgotten lore.
In another realm,
I am of starlight, navigating shadows cast by dreams not of my own.
The Silent Corridors beckon,
as do the woven days of yore,
flickering like candle flames against the vastness of now.
Do whispers ever end, or do they simply fade into whispers of themselves?