In the wavering shadows of endless possibility,
where the oceans hum silent vibratos,
we dance along threads of gentle illusions,
the whispers of timeless paradox cross our path.
Solar flares, gentle pricks on the skin of dawn,
reveal the edges where meanings converge.
A serene gesture, the hands of time unravel,
stitching seams of old echoes and unseen realms.
Follow the oscillations through paths of light,
while tethered to dreams quietly projected.
Open windows, with no where to go,
yet everywhere to be.
Patterns in pastels lie beneath every choice made,
entangled in colors fading but never lost.
With smooth edges, edges found nowhere,
reflections hold wise secrets of the fabric we weave.
Here lies the paradox,
where the edges are but a calming lull,
in a world spinning faster,
in the smoothing touch of stillness.