In the hidden folds of silence,
a whisper wanders,
tracing paths without borders,
through corridors unseen.
These echoes of phantom inertia,
gathering dust on the periphery
of being, where once
the pulse laid a claim.
Are you there...?
An illusive embrace that grips
the air you cannot touch.
The labyrinths, needless in their persistence,
weave threads of absence,
yet within the absence,
a presence is arrayed in shadow.