in the hush of breaking dawn,
when thoughts weave through soft pink mist,
remnants of velvety whispers
trail like footprints on tidal sands.
a solitary bird sings,
echoes of tales never told,
shadows dance to rhythms unheard,
under the shakings of waking dreams.
the ocean of subconscious ebbs,
revealing shells of golden truths,
glimmers flickering like distant stars,
waiting to be caught between sighs.
venture beyond the whispering marsh,
where turning leaves shape sentinels of hope,
through passages crowded by evening's murmur,
lingering fait achevés, echoing forever.