Where do fragments flutter, like moths to eternal flames,
Woven tapestries of predilection evaporate into the whispering wind,
Colder than the breath of shadow and sunlight combined,
Each slumbered notion disperses like smoke rings disturbed.
Nearby echoes sing songs doused in sepia tones,
They spin tales of laughter, aches, forgotten yet lingering.
Is a heart an eccentric clock, burrowed in hands of industries
Or just a porcelain teacup, cracked yet forever holding?
Links grasp at surreal lore of unseen horizons.
Explore the silhouettes of existence.
Each night an ocean of colors tomes through the quiet,
A nightingale vying with phantoms, distant muses.
They whirl in worlds pressed between closed eyelids as
A shadow sips moonlight, painted in dreams undisclosed.
Velocity finds comfort gazing upon the infinite,
Hazy reflections offer value not held to the light,
Cradled in delusion, realms reach, stain hope with aberration,
And yet, beneath that gauze, lies tender veracity.