In the quiet hum of dusk,
the horizon stitched itself
into a forgotten tale.

The weaver sleeps,
eyes closed on amber fields
where echo meets silence.

Threads of consciousness float,
drifting on an ethereal breeze,
waiting to be untangled.
Silent Waltz

Shadows cast long below
the moon's faint glow,
whispering secrets of the night.

Rebirth: One must ponder,
what realities lie dormant
beneath the surface of sleep.
Lost Thread