A world where echoes drip
From the honeycomb mind,
Suspended in amber until
The sun bids it free.
Truth is not a path,
But a whispering forest,
Each leaf a forgotten memory,
Each root a silent wish.
To wander the mind is
To seek the hidden truths
That lie behind the mirror
Of dreams unspoken.
The secret roads twist and weave,
Twine around heartstrings,
And lead only into
The embrace of endless thought.