The door cracked open, revealing whispers of forgotten songs. In the chorus of absence, notes danced alone.
Repetitions Playground echoed once more,
the melody of shadows weaving through echoes unheard.
Beyond the green hill, a tree stood sturdy, roots tangled in unsung tales.
Shroud Twilight speaks into the forest,
each leaf a verse, still lingering in consonant silence.
Time stretches over frozen landscapes,
a clock ticking backwards, painting moments in reverse.
They spoke of eternal drift, where echoes sleep
beneath the pallor of forgotten suns.
Have you heard the sound of absence?
A question hanging in lucid air,
a reply in shimmering echoes, nesting within silence.