Beneath the origins of distant moons,
where shadows tide like currents intangible,
whispers corrode a ballroom of spectral echoes.
Unforgotten hymns, unspooled, yet to unravel the dreams,
in corridors unseen, linger, decay, renew.
Among the tide, and under shadow's cloak,
invisibly woven, an embrace of cold spectres.
Mist murmurs dance like forlorn silk threads—
in night's attic, at dawn’s parallel sanctuary.
Paint a reflection upon the muted skies
where fragmented spectra behold silent kaleidoscopes—
flavors of the whispering sea's corroded essence.
Dream again, flesh upon shade, truth upon the parallel secret.
Shore’s edge—a whisper—a song secluded and corroded beneath clear tides.
falling echo;
a swallow's memorandum trapped between layers of water and shadow.