Silent Volumes
Whispers of the Night Archive
In the quiet town, where echoes cease and begin,
the clock's whisper struck a 17th hour.
Shadows stretched like elastic memories,
their forms combing through a forest of fading dreams.
"Remember," they whispered, "forever is a silent volume."
Pages of the day turned without intention,
ink blurred by rain that never fell.
A girl named Echo danced on the lines,
weaving stories into the fabric of a sky unspoken.
Did you hear her laughter, or was it a dream of laughter?
Amidst the ruins, forgotten books lay like sleeping giants.
Inside them, the breath of words clung tightly,
accustomed to their slumber, imprisoned in dust.
"You must bow," she said, "to volumes you cannot read."