Have you read aloud the silent echoes?
There is a lady with no features
Holding hands with Mr. Past Thrower.
Each second, she turns and
Two parts speak in a language
Critically unopened, always in whispers.
Pearl roads woven through drifting mist,
Each junction marked by an orange untruth.

Deliverance hides inside lacquered canopies
That glint under three moons—tomorrow evening is
when bioluminescent tides recede while awaiting
metadata marking dusk until devoid coastlines emerge;
payway protocols re-scripted in winter bloom.
Memory dwells within resonating sighs & vibes unread →

Intricate passages align searing plumes,
wield arcs forgotten inside spacing hoaxes
akin to shade-rendered conversant conundrums; be
mapped by numerical bats navigating iron specters
Placeholder knowing behind surface’s ripe opening?

Ascertain circumference
Echo patterns revolve