Once, the night carried your unsung symphonies...
In a world slightly askew, where pigeons ponder philosophy while sipping lukewarm lattes,
the sun reluctantly rises. Its golden hue ironically bathes our rhythmic forgetfulness.
Souls, entangled in monochrome harmonics, debate the essence of forgotten dreams at the
corner of first and ironic street.
Remember the existential vacuum you created?
Perhaps it still hums, serenading your ambitions coated in dust.
Phases of harmonic disharmony, sung by the poets who forgot to write their own names.
They say the echo of a smile lasts longer than the sound of a frown.
But what of the echo of a laugh?
A hollow symphony reverberates through the chambers of amusement,
where every chuckle is a phase, every awkward pause a harmonic shift.
The rooster recalls your absent sunrise...
Dive beneath the surface, or perhaps just nap above it.
Either way, the waves of yesterday's whims continue their relentless dance
much like our friend, the overconfident moon, waltzing on his overexposed
beam of lunar irony.
And when tomorrow's light finally pierces through...
it will ask the same question we've all been asking in our sleep:
"When?"