Shadows reside within the bones of night,
Whispering tales not meant to be heard.
They speak an alphabet of stars,
Carving etchings into my slumbering mind.
Each symbol, a breath of lost desert winds,
Each mark, a stitch in the fabric of dreams.
The mystery unfolds under closed eyelids,
As if time itself penned these fragile scrolls.
In the labyrinth of thought, I wander,
Seeking the arcane waterways that guide our truths.
What oracle whispers when silence is loudest?
What prophecy lies in the spaces of this written void?