What whispers lie beneath the weary paths trodden by sojourner's feet?
Beyond the verdant trails, there's a realm untouched by map or compass—
A silent wilderness where the heart learns to speak in melodies forgotten.
When the world's clamor fades, and only the sound of breath remains,
There blooms a symphony—crafted not of notes but of stillness.
Listen closely to the silence: it is profound in its stories,
Rich with echoes of dreams that wander beyond
Every well-marked turn and shadowed break in the canopy.
Echoes of the Unsung
The Concealed Map
Whispers of Silence
Listen. The leaves murmur secrets in languages unspoken,
And the earth, beneath your feet, breathes in tune with time itself,
Composing verses in every stride, every pause.
Can you hear the unplayed notes, the stanzas of pause that sing of what is not?
An opus of the unseen, the unfelt, the unsaid—woven in the fabric of the forgotten.