The echoes dance in whispered halls,
amongst shadows that tenderly rise.
Their murmurs weave a gentle sea,
a place where lost voices softly sigh.
And here, the embrace of silence unfolds,
a crystalline refuge, where mirage borders reality.
The moon, a silent companion,
hangs low, kissing the trembling edge,
of dreams whispered in the dark,
a lullaby for stars to yet be born.
Touch not the light, but seek the shade,
where echoes learn the language of time.
Each shadow, a story etched in dusk,
waits patiently for morning's sublime.
Rest here, in echo's tender hold,
where the shadows learn to speak,
a silent song only whispered souls
can hear, through the ages they seek.