Whispers of the Void

Tangled reflections in mirrors of moments, where silence speaks louder than thunder. Do echoes hum about their existence? Can a shadow remember its sun?

Poets of the absent, with verses dripping like wax from forgotten candles.

I once met a dream that refused to sleep, dancing feathers in the twilight of thought. Could whispers be breadcrumbs left for the forsaken?

The light speaks, it sings...
A tremor beneath the eaves, footsteps made of fog, wanderers lost in conversations with their own wait.

You find gravity slips beneath a fog of existence, words entwined with sighs as gales carry tales of unseen worlds.

In another life, we were clouds, traveling across our doubts, grazing dreams and treasuring passersby. The in between realms, an interstice that trembles.