Between the Sands of Time

This was not the first breath drawn amidst the undulating dunes.
Like visions stitched from the same piece of metaphysical cloth,
a trail marked not by footprints but by echoes of steps never taken.

Such is the tapestry of sands beneath the moonlight.
Threads of silver spun through memory's loom,
Pushing against the horizon where time dilutes reality.

You pause, and the grains whisper tales they should not know,
Familiar voices carried over endless sea-salt heavens and
Laughter, distant yet close, mingling with the dry wind.
The sensation strikes—in the beating heart, a pulse akin to love lost.
Underfoot, a carving appears, its symbols radiant with time's kiss.

Dreams do not speak aloud by choice. They are trapped in rhyme
by an unseen artist seeking to serenade the mundane with colors unknown.
Pause now, listen anew: there's a truth woven in their silent ballads,
Eager as they've always been to reveal the faces placed against their wheels.

Stray no longer into otherworldly corners.

The companion of familiarity calls, its tune like sand poured gently through an open palm.