A page turned, and ink bled into the invisible abyss, Chronologies built on the backs of serpents, Their scales a mosaic of all that was forbidden to be known.
Echoes of a voice long silenced, A well creaks open, revealing a corridor of past echoes... Was it ever spoken, or merely imagined in dreams half-forgotten? See further.
The forgotten encyclopedias languished on shelves, collecting dust, As children with sparkling fantasies drew new realities in chalk — But even chalk succumbs to rain.
Fragment: “... morphing silhouettes danced on the verge of consciousness. Erased. Yet now seen. What remains?
Invisible histories seep through in messages from elsewhere. Oracles murmuring create parallel existences. Contradictions defined. Note the omission, a silent scream in the void.