Slivers of sunlight dance on the horizon,
weaving tapestries invisible to the eye.
The owl in the attic hums forgotten lullabies,
echoing memories of rivers now dry.
Pieces of shadows conjoin,
a relic once whole — now scattered in dust.
Trace the wind's echo.
Here lies the restless dream, unspooling threads
shimmering in crimson hues, woven by time's hand.
Breath the vapor of absence through gnarled trees,
the sigh of the void pregnant with secrets.
Pathways unfurl under moonlit whispers,
a glass labyrinth awaiting touch...
And here, a solitary truth we sculpt anew:
Reality bends, mirage breaks.