Echoes of the Iris Dreamtide
Beneath shattered twilight, a phantasmal wind wrapped whispers 'round my ear.
The sea glistened under the aftermath of aurora, each wave a liquid echo of something
once known but now lost, drifting in memory's thin veil. I walked the sands, grains
slipping through fingertips like time unwound. So quiet, so surreal, the eternal
chant of azure, sung by ghostly silhouettes at sea.
As I tread on whispers-carpet, reveries swarm. Hovering echoes haunted with every
step, tales of lost mariners and submerged cities entwined in the mist. The moon
loomed, a guardian to unearthly cries resounding the symphony of mirth and melancholy.
Dive deeper, says the current, deeper still when dawn bows to dusk's embrace.
Are they songs, or dreams masquerading as song? Rhythmic repetitions echo the heartboat,
my own vessel of thought adrift in this hypnotic drift. Onward to the thrumming pulse of
creation, to the silent serenade of stars lain beneath the froth. To know, to learn,
the silken whispers they carry, we must heed this call…