silent winds and echoes of past dreams haunt me
do they echo because they are alone, or because they never belonged?
steps on dry leaves, an unpredictable crunch
shadows lengthening as the sun leans down
somewhere a clock ticks, or is it a metronome?
a heartbeat, perhaps my own, reflecting
what is a reflection but a lie in silver pools?
i wander through corridors of memories, or are they illusions?
answers lie just beyond perception, not unlike a mirage
stone voids thoughts
echoes become whispers and whispers become silence
i sit upon the edge of oblivion, and it is comfortable here