In the crevices of the mind, where daylight dare not tread,
lies the mosaic of lost reveries, shattered and cold.
The echoes call - fleeting shadows dance upon
the edges of reality, whispering secrets of bygone yesterdays.
Dreams forgotten, like old tomes of dust,
speak in tongues – a language of silence
inscribed in the marrow of the night.
Listen closely, and you might hear
their resonating melancholy in the hollow chambers.
Beneath the earth, beneath us all,
where roots intertwine with ancient bones,
there exists a heart that beats
beneath layers of yesteryears,
forgotten memories, uncared for, yet alive.
To walk these passages of darkened thought
is to wade through a river of twilight,
cold and eternal – embrace the current,
let it wash over, through, around,
until you're but a whispering echo too.