Words drift like jellyfish,
translucent fragments of thought tangled
with inked memories. Each pulsation,
an echo, reverberating amidst the darkness,
where light fractures into a spectrum of silence.
Thus, in the view of the submersible minds,
conscious insight mimics the rhythm of tides.
What is clarity, but a mirage, fading,
consigned to the rosa et nigrum of our being?
The cartographer absent as the stars drift,
lost to glimmers beneath counts of waves.
Imagine realms of detachment,
the decay of precise articulation,
parasitic notions latch onto essence;
ask what's remorse concerning obscured journeys,
then unveil the labyrinth of vitality
undeterred by intellectual fragments.
Before approaching what uh represents the horizon,
read the silence punctuated by forgotten streams—
paths laid not for the traveler but the wanderer; a nodes’
connection drapes perhaps over unfurling dreams unchecked.