Phantom Whispers

Whispering thoughts, in shadows they linger,
We are but echoes, resonating within.
Mirror to the soul, does it even reflect?

In the labyrinth of time, a question persists:
What is beginning, if there is no end?
In silence I scream, in silence I wait,
For the answer that never arrives, but always is.

Every end is a new breath, different yet the same.
Fingers tracing paths on sand, transient yet eternal.
Listen to the whispers, they call in the night,
Not to be heard, but to be felt, profoundly.