In the corridors of eclipsed sunbeams,
whispers of the forgotten futures sail,
across the ripples of crystal sands.
Voices of ancients speak in tongues
we have yet to decipher,
their meanings woven into the fabric
of an unwritten destiny.
Memory is a painted canvas,
splattered with shades of tomorrow,
yet untouched by the hands of now.
We build castles in the air,
layered with the dust of unmade dreams,
where every window looks backward.