In twilight whispers, fragments lie,
an echo of a code once framed,
entwined in shadows of meaningless chatter,
memory's reprise, yet disassembled,
pieces eluding, slipping through fingers like sand.
What remains of our intentions?
Questions flow with the creek,
depths of syllables barely touching the light,
can you piece the tangled tale?
Dislocated phrases are battles waged on paper,
encoded mischief, reveal then conceal, entwined in chaos.
Can you unravel this message?