Once, the echoes of today held promises beneath the storms, fleeting shadows of visions unfulfilled. Where have the paths diverged, I keep asking, while time weaves its tapestry of seeking arcs?
In this forgotten domain, are your steps ever returning? I tread on surfaces as whispers turn to dust, as gales of sentiment clash with silence in momentous manifestos left unheard. What lies beyond each precipice, wonders of solitude, forever distanced.
Remnants of our sleight,
where verbs once moved,
habitats of nostalgic yields cradled memories faint, like thin veils over dimming luminescence.
Just beyond, grasped only by the imaginings
of a
past reacquainting itself through prisms,
casts many truths, but many more illusions.