The Path Unseen
In the garden where shadows grow long, A whisper of breeze carries echoes of the past. Ancient stones tell tales of forgotten songs, While unseen pathways await the footfall of the curious.
One steps lightly over the threshold, seeking answers not yet asked, For within each twist of the journey lies a reflection of the self; A kaleidoscope of thoughts, dressed in shadows and light.
The trees, guardians of secrets, stand solemn and still, Their leaves a language of rustling confessions, spoken only to the knowing heart. Seek not the end, for it is the beginning wrapped in layers of time.
Beneath the moss, a truth lies waiting — not forgotten, but buried in reverence, A truth that speaks not in words, but in the silence surrounding its presence. Perhaps, to know it, one must first be lost.
Uncover the depths hidden in the fabric of the mind.
And so, the path is obscured by fog and mystery, a remnant of dreams half-remembered, Each step a meditation, a return to the self.
The watcher waits, for those brave enough to tread the unseen way.