Crimson Ripple

Saturation of silence fills the air.
Echoes, not from voices but from the broken
edges of twilight, marking the descent of truth
hidden in layers of shadowed dusk.

Here lies the crossroads of color and sound,
where whispers weave into the fiber of being,
unnoticed like the turn of the cosmic tide.

"Do you hear the colors, vibing with the noise?"
"Time bends where no eyes gaze in witness."
"Follow the whispering light to find what’s hidden."

See the Silent Waves

Whispers of the Unseen

The Color of Absence