Imprinted upon the memory of silence are optimistic whispers, tender
and godly spins on mundane polyphony.
But should we delve deeper, chase the quietxbcers to their dens,
we might discover... an introspection unwilling to fade
away, an echo singing against the zippers of insomnia.
Why do voices appear in the sparkle of stillness?
They beckon towards unsounded heights, coax us into confidence.
Isn't it, after all, in these pauses we grasp the core,
the very quilt wrapping fear in creative tenderness?
To take these echoes as a guide, become a glacierscape
architect of sustaining peace.
Enlist the mantra of silence.
Become a noted sculptor of dreams.