Rippled whispers, swirling inside the crystalline dome of yesterday's echo,
Unspooled thoughts drift upon currents of time,
Like moths seeking solace in the burnt-out stars.
Delirium: the sweet tremor that dances upon the tongue,
Beneath the shroud of an overcast mind;
Counting silences between heartbeats.
Crimson flashes of synthetic rain,
Paint the world in colors unheard,
Fragments of a symphony composed of sighs and shadows.
Paradox: a riddle whispered to the wind,
Retold by the moon in her half-empty state;
When time skips like a stone across the mirror of dreams.
Skeletal trees reach out with finger-like branches,
Through the haze of forgotten moments;
Roots entwined within the labyrinth of thought.
The Orb of Lore: a keeper of stories,
Woven into the fabric of night and echoing through
The hollow whispers of crumbling constellations.