In the void where sounds hesitate, whispers form
like shadows, fleeting
There’s a story in the shimmer of the dew,
sighs trapped in morning light.
Underneath the surface, the truth basks, waiting.
A familiar breeze carries absence,
blending the tangible with whispered dreams.
Can you hear the rustle of thoughts either left
unheard or shaped by fear
to remain hidden beneath the audible veil?
Silence holds a mirror to the soul,
and in its reflection, the invisible ink shows
paths we dare not tread aloud, holding truths
painted gently, softly, pretending the yesterdays
were the tomorrows we desired.