In the ageless twilight, where whispers converge
entwined notes of eternal longing, silent yet screaming
shadows paint the unsung aria of a storied heart,
clutching the edges of whispered dreams, an embrace of moonlit mystery.
Around and around, the echoes lost in frenetic divergence—
confessions written on the mist, dissolving as fast as they descend.
Ink stains on paper made of clouds, sighing beneath unseen stars.
Follow the labyrinth, for those who dare, may find themselves undone.
Gaze unto the motionless void, and witness the
vibrancy of hidden spectrals, colored in hues
of soft agony and ecstatic light, undeterred
by time's relentless hands. This is dancing
in the rain under an umbrella made of dreams.
An infinite crescendo.
Are we shadows of spectrals, or spectrals of shadows?
Embraced by twilight's soft music, incessantly asking
questions without answers,
lost between love's sweet torment and the mirth of stars.