In the cavernous dark where time curls like dry leaves, the echoes speak in tongues woven with shadows— a symphony of forgetfulness etched in sand.
hieroglyphs of forgotten tongues, sigh in solitude
resonance of undying whispers, a soft lament—
like staring at the moon through broken glass.
There was once an aria, secretive as moths in daylight:
Each note a step, crumbling underfoot, leading to places where reality melds with mirage. The words, half-remembered, linger like breath on winter's edge.