In the cavern of night's own heart, where shadows entwine,
fractals of silence bloom like secrets, adorned in the fabric of forgotten dreams.
Blood-red petals fall through the prism of an unseen gaze.
Disjointed voices murmur in the periphery,
fading into the the echo of an empty well.
Twinkling like stars sewn upon satin whispers,
shards of laughter drift like autumn leaves on the wind.
You are the reflection; I am the glass,
separate yet inseparable; in stillness, we collide.
A symphonic overture written in the absence of sound,
illusion beckons like a candle hidden in the fog.
Each step walks the tightrope of dislocation,
fragments of paragraphs pursuing clarity amidst haze.
What is true in the realm of the ephemeral,
if thoughts dissolve like mist in the morning light?
Lost Shadows |
Echoes Follow |
The Viewer’s Reflection