Here amidst the ocean of sand,
where whispers carry forgotten songs,
the dreams lay scattered, like dew on spines of ice.
Shadows play tricks beneath the sun's glaring eye,
revealing the ugliest truth—
that we chase sand in our hands,
only to find our reflections.
Veiled in twilight, where night's robe embraces,
there lies a path dust-kissed and desolate.
Walk it, dear wanderer, tread lightly,
for each grain you touch cradles a memory,
a sorrowsweet tale of all you could never hold.
Listen— the silence itself has a voice,
like a bell with no toll, echoing
through canyons weatherscarred,
telling truths that burn,
yet cool as the night wind sift through dreams —
the ugliest truth bears the most beautiful lies.