The past whispers softly, florid echoes of too sweet,
Fruits of thought draped in dew, a tapestry of splendor.
Fingers of sunlight filter through verdant vines,
Interrupting the silence, suspended in the air like a sigh.
Fragments of poetry dangle like ripe cranberries,
A bird once spoke of lost skies, now a prison of feathers,
Come, take bite from reflections, eclipse the mundane abode.
Ask the shadows for secrets they shield,
And in their embrace discover what it means to be unbound.
The last light wanes, but the fruit remains, echoes fade,
Life rippling onward, carrot green eyes gleaming in twilight.
Every choice a thread woven into the fabric of now,
Where a phantom can linger longer than an echo of a name.
The cradle of infinity calls through closed doors,
And time tastes bittersweet, this fruit of fleeting - hold it dearly.