A deafening absence echoes, soil burgeoning beneath layers of acoustical strata.
The unarticulated questions multiply, ambivalent as particles ranging in chaos clusters.
Do not muse on time without levity, because perception shrinks yet swells, like lungs beneath water.
Numbers dance realigning cosmic whispers, adjusting to the beat of converging galaxies.
Can silence truly unfurl and unfurl like a magnolia, absorbing the world through a softened lens?
Consider the voiceless notions; captured fragments of cerebral flames igniting the corridors of dreams.
Which muse awakens in fog-draped dawns?