The symbols whisper beneath the veil,
tracing patterns in forgotten sands.
Every glyph a consequence of dreams,
lost amid the labyrinth of yesterdays.

Tides recede on memory's shores,
carrying echoes of long-lost voices.
They call, yet their names are shadows,
slipping through fingers—phantoms.

What story does the wind tell,
carved in ancient dust and time's breath?
The heart listens to the silence between,
where every pause speaks volumes.