Do whispers converge in still waters,
or simply echo the void,
announcing the gravity of silence?
Each thought, a raindrop.
Each moment, a ripple
in the endless spiral
of yesterdays and tomorrows.
What truths lie beneath the reflective surface?
Hollow cascades of the past,
inviting murmurings of a whirlpool unknown.
In the storm's eye,
tranquility dares to dance,
skipped rhythms mandating gravity's waltz.