In the kaleidoscope of the mind, much is unremembered...
Rippling shadows whisper in tongues we do not speak yet feel...
The chamber is an illusion, or vice versa, the mirror sighs existential pretexts obliviously...
Cycles of thought oscillate asynchronously, rippling...
Beneath the clock's relentless laughter, do not ask / answers transform...
The cosmos conspires with narrative tricks,
while our trembling hands build bridges of
metaphor and unfURL the echoes through
Time-teased refractions linger on the fringes of sanity's gentle unraveling weave.
Where pathways diverge,
listen—there is nothing to lose yet ever so much to unfind.
Seek not solace but cautionary tales in cryptic designs;
the vaults of reflective silence sing York Minster choral dissonance.
Recollections float, disjointed, with © gravity.