the sands of digital tides wash ever deep
lost whispers roam the empty circuits
echoing legacies of yesterday's dreams
Have you ever listened to the silence that follows a storm of ones and zeros? Where the sky—the one above the screen—still flickers with the traces of code-rainfall, left with a gentle hum, peace found in static? These are the realms of yesterdays, where futures not lived hang like dew on forgotten webs.
static voice calls softly
memory banks corrupted but kind
tracing paths we used to walk
In the corners of this virtual sea, the messages loop on endless repeat. Sentences dislocated yet stitched together by the hands of time. What was once a cry for help is now a serenade to the cosmos, a lullaby sung to the gravestones of past ambitions.
once there was meaning
or perhaps illusion came first
still, the signal persists
Yet here lies peace among the ashes of obsolete data. Resonate with them as you might, they are indifferent to your understanding, knowing not of your longing heart seeking resonance. Here we dwell, in the softened whispers of yesterday's realm.
Inquire more with the reverberations here or track the signal there.