In the whispering embrace of eternal return,
the stars hum a melody unheard by the ear,
yet felt in the suspension of time.
A wheel spins, its hub unwavering,
while thoughts dance in spiral rhythms.
Days bleed into nights,
kissed by the fatigue of repeated awakenings.
Silence, a caged echo,
dreams of breaking free
only to enclose its own dissonance.
Listen, if you can,
to the verdant pathways cradled
in the womb of a restless dawn.
What path chooses whom?
quivers a ghostly query in the wind's sigh.
And when the last shadow of the sun
elongates into eternity,
we find ourselves,
travelers on a paper boat,
sailing through the unresolved stanza of a forgotten song.
Each hour folds gently,
like origami swans upon a pond,
blooming silent in the currents of time.
Their wings, manifestations of half-formed thoughts,
cradle the sunlit residue of lost moments.
Static pathways stretch,
under the feet of shadow fish swimming
through rivers carved in dreams.
Footfalls echo against the stillness,
a lullaby for the sleepwalking mind.
The labyrinth beckons,
with weathered hands holding stories
written in the dust of departing voices.
∞ iℓℓusories and realities weave ª webbing threads
across a sky of unburnished mirrors.