The Journal of Lost Tongues

"In the valley of Murmara, the seasons whisper secrets
when sunflowers hold court and daisies dance
upon scattered beams of yester-light.
Below the mountain known only as Hollow Echo,
lay paths veiled in silence — broad, disused highways
that speak not of trucks or travelers, but of shadows,
lost shadows that speak an ancient tongue, hushed,
a whisper carried by the wind into dreams unrevealed."

"To the North lies Elderwood, where maples hug the mist
and dares the daring seer to trespass on meaning.
Acrid tales linger spun in webs by low-sitting
beams of twilight — a map painted not in ink,
but in dreams waking to wake no more.
Look closely and hear — an echo of a laugh, erased,
an erased laugh speaks aloud, unknown, yet known."