they say echoes are whispers of yesteryear caught between the pages of existence find themselves tracing these footprints that seem written in reverse action speaking louder than reflection yes it is in motion that we discover the distant chance of returning home even as silhouettes dance on the edge of common sense...
and the astronaut inside a bathtub filled with jelly coins and bold decisions dreams of yellow umbrellas twirling to a rhythm only they can hear alignment is not a factor in these celestial choices streetlights humming tunes of undiscovered poetry resembling all and nothing...
Whispers