In shadows of thought where whispers are loudest,
I wander, tethered to invisible strings, coaxed by echoes
of a forked tongue and mischievous wits.
Here lies the labyrinth—comprised not of walls,
but of memories unremembered and dreams unspun,
interludes of a symphony unheard, heartbeats
of the cosmos marked in lunar dust.
A lunatic's yammerin’: A thunderous silence,
a tempest held within confines between sanity
and the kaleidoscopic embrace of the stars.
Clouds loom larger in foreign lands,
whispers etched into their vaporous forms,
tales of bygone yesteryears refracted through
prisms of broken light.
Take heed of the forgotten bridges,
those threshold moments we sidestep,
where potential dampens under commonplace robes,
waiting patiently beneath the surface tension.