In sunsets gilded with whispers,
Where projections of thoughts seem dreams,
A sanctuary unfurls not in expansion,
But intimately, beneath the indulgent tapestry,
Encoded in the rhythmic Morse taps:
... ... ...
. . .
Swipe the embedded picture of sacred silence: .
A soul treasures forgotten harmonies,
Each silenced grove a word unformed,
Each wave of tap a bridge unto sacred hemispheres
Imbued with echoes of ever-whilkling thoughts.
Discover the Cascade
or/ contemplate the irony:
Murmurs in the Crypt of Rust