Amongst the twisted bramble of forgotten whispers,
The ancient trees converse in eloquent rustle,
A melody encrypted in the sullen wind.
Their murmurs carry secrets of another age,
Where sylvan spirits breathede life intothe shadows.
"Folding in upon themselves like a sly dream
between the fingers of a nocturne soul,"
croaks the gnarled oak, its trunk a cathedral,
silhouetted against the phantasmagoric dusk.
Above, the balloon sways with lost reverie,
Adorned with ivy chains and spectral thoughts,
Defying gravity amidst the forest of sighs.
Mystic Occlusion
Eclipse of the Wood