Strings of Time

Whispering flutters of memory entwine in silence,
swirling edges of fractured reflections,
flickering lanterns wake the slumbering echoes,
relentless yet gentle—do you hear?

Yesterday crumbles softly in hands of smoke,
dilapidated charms drift in the ether,
cupping enigmas with fractured symmetry,
while drowning in momentary reveries.

Time does not wear a watch; it folds within shadows,
a crumpled paper, unwritten letters loom,
yearning to be untangled but persist as strings,
pulled by the aware and forsaken.