In the shelter of forgotten seasons, time bends paradoxically,
waves of thought lapping silently against the shores of consciousness.
Existence muddled and perturbed, echoing through the corridors of uncertainty.
Are the valleys—a cradle—or a tomb,
sheltering whispers of inexorable truths?
Look deeply into the incessant flow,
perceive the ripple; fragment of eternity,
suspended moment hungering within.
Navigate then, aimlessly: a leaf, a thought,
the ripple turns, folding into self.