Upon the fading of yesterday's whisper,
layers of time wrestle, etching memories
upon fleeting sands. There's ink beneath
the visible script, tangled emotions spun in
wires of forgotten dreams,
visible only to those who dare to look
within the echoes.
The sky was never blue, merely a reflection
of the gaze that sought truth amidst the shades.
Here lies the state of being, eroded by
history's negligent brush,
concealing colors lost to oblivion.
Consider the path leading southward
towards unexplained edges,
where whispers of extinguished stars
confess secrets only certitudes erase.