Whispers of the unsaid, spun in the dielectric web
Cracking, whispering, the language of ghosts
Words unformed, yet their meanings profound.
In this realm, silence has a voice,
It speaks not with lips, but through the symphony of static.
Listen closely, lean in, and you might understand.
Between the hues of electric mist,
Lies an echo, a reflection of worlds unseen,
Where sound becomes sight, and sight, sound.