The Paths Who Speak Secrets: An Old Story

Where Chairs Gossip Their Fables

"We, the paths, once heard them giggle, little bear clutched tight by stringy plush arms. His enclosure spoke envy, whispers twisted amongst fibers wanting solace, secrets spilled under grand oak trees as leaves pirouetted with laughter."

Beneath the pinch of moonlight when nights foamed with iridescence, slippers wept for unfulfilled journeys. Quilted feet had echoes too and recitic stanzas of twinkling star gazing. Since men tied their paths with fractured ideals, entwined vine knots morose whispers twirling under wisteria.

"Bootlaces, running fast toward horizons unseen, claimed they fell once, tied together in strange harmonies, hidden beneath toil's pliant lace. Bewildered earth met dizzy boot tongues, and laughed until dawn walked gingerly across striped fields."

The fabric cabal has understand well, yet not share well, always dreaded the open truths signaled by curious ones. Threads unravel at edges, scribes of dirt and effervescent dew breathe new words without confinement, echoing things unerring sun wants to repress!

Inkwell of the Unseen: The Walks We Haunted