The velvet echoes slip as night descends,
A shadowed harmony in whispered rove.
Someone speaks a name over batwing letters,
The answer clings unspoken beneath the oak's dark canopy.
The cadence of invisible wings,
Suspended between histories unwritten,
Prophets bind words with threads of dawn,
Only to see dreams dashed across celestial syllables.
A silver-tongued seraph laps the turning page—
How many nights must pass before
The robin's vigil breaks eternity's slumber?
In whispers, the hidden way forever beckons
Where swallowed echoes wane and grow:
Emberlight Fables or Windswept Dreams.