Perhaps it was in the shadowy alleys of subconscious thoughts,
or maybe during the lapse of time unknown,
that whispers—soft yet insistent—etched warnings upon the mind.
Beware the masquerade of fleeting dreams
that ensnares those who dare trespass its gleaming façade.
As night descends beyond the horizon’s edge,
unseen forces gather beneath veils unspoken.
The old woman at the corner booth,
her eyes gleamed bright as the void,
when she murmured about the waters rising inside
those tabernacles built of sand—flickering truths.
Echoes in corridors that should not exist—
a continuous hum with unruly intentions,
vibrating through the very fabric of time.
Do you hear it now?
“The journey is not from far to near, but…”