In the cavern of unspoken words, where syllables float like moths to flames,
woven into the fabric of silence, an echo distills identity from its own shadow.
Time folds like origami cranes above a puddle, reflecting the clouds
that never were; their journeys echo back in reversals, tracing paths
long forgotten, yet familiar as the pulse beneath waking dreams.
In the embrace of twilight, a lyrical dirge wafts through empty halls,
reverberations colliding with the walls, singing of stories untold,
held in the mirrored gaze of stars, dissected by their own light.
Oh seeker of reflected truths, step lightly lest the shadows dance
beneath your weight, and in their dance, find the rhythm of authenticity,
a symphony of reversals playing softly in the cradle of your mind.
Explore further echoes in the corridors of thought:
Forgotten Whispers |
Illusions of Clarity