In a world made of whispering stars
with shadows that dance to the sound of nothing,
is a pocket of dreams, mysterious and ever-so faint,
beckoning the curious with their dangling threads —
the laughter of eyes closed and hearts open.
*Can you hear the void? It breathes in rhythm,*
*echoing tales of lost whispers.*
Where soft petals float on the surface of forgotten thoughts,
and the land lies pregnant with the unsayable;
a glimmer of something just out of reach —
children chasing echoes of laughter in the fog,
tangled whispers woven through forgotten yarns of light.