Between Silence, and Its Echo
moon slices arc
between two voids;
silver symmetry breaking paths unseen
ever perfect, never whole,
Cold and Contemplative
soft whisper overlaps
the curtain of dreams diverted.
Time waits, holding neither echo nor honesty,
Invitation to the Abyss
Immaterial Substance
half seen, half believed.
Can you touch what isn't there
or dream what is?