The whispers of forgotten echoes linger
in the haunted corners of perception's edge.
Now, recast in shadowy light, spectral murmurs.
Veiled voices softly linger.

Upon the fragile circus of human thought,
teeter on the brink — listen,
do you hear the songs of broken clocks?

Here, where silence screams unseen,
consciousness unfurls its wings.
Time dissolves—phrases adrift in
the echoing abyss.