In the velvety, muted confines of thought, where no echoes reach, there lies an abyss painted in shadow and reflective stillness. Observe now, the exhaled secrets streaming like silent waves; what semblance of reality is whispered into existence?
Above the crust of distraction, a world crafted of stone and desire stands empty, waiting. Submerge beneath, somewhere in those depths—lies laughter, an uncommitted jest caught between cycles of silence and sound. Why then is it unuttered, why so cloistered?
Carvings on the walls of this fortune—or folly—tell tales of fragmented summers, lingering, the farthest of memories rippling into the objective present. Lift a trembling hand to those shapes and see time Celtic—or perhaps mere playthings—to be etched in pain.
Do we not unravel, thread by silent thread, in the company of the wave as the mystery blossoms beneath a watchful moon? Relinquish grasping tendrils to her unrelenting grace. Forgone, is the tapestry—beyond woven, whisked celestial, final breathe full of forgotten names.
Dare to Know Listen Less Feather Way