In the symphony of unspoken words,
where silence composes unheard melodies,
I found cloaked sonatas whispering truths,
echoing in empty chambers of thought.

Tides drown verses beneath a quiet sky,
hidden notes ripple through the stillness,
an orchestra of shadows bending light,
harmonies woven in the fabric of silence.

Listen, for the unheard speaks louder,
a crescendo in the void, a bow on emptiness,
where black notes rest on a pale sheet,
bonded by the absence of sound.

Prelude to a sonnet never sung,
in the margins of void lies a chorus of silence,
histrionics of a ghostly overture,
fading echoes tangled in unseen wind.