Crystalline perplexities shimmer, glimpses of what was never…
Imagine a whisper from the far shore echoing in the mirrors of dreams.
Isn't the marble red, inevitable in its sea of twilight?
The arches speak a language forgotten by tongues alive yet voiceless.
The fragmented mirror giggles when the mind wanders too far from
the roots it never had the courage to plant.
Reflections upon the city park pond—where drowned lilies pretend to
be observing.
Enter or not enter, the abyss has grown sentimental,
deposit bits of your wistfulness in the shadowed banks.
Visit paths untaken in unfamiliar satire: Ghost Bubble | Numbers Whisper