Interlude

Silent voices murmur in realms unseen,
Shadows of thoughts ride the crest of time's tide.
What woven reverie resides in the fabric of morning,
Tangling fingers of dusk weaving an echo in your heart pondering...

Dreams hardly dreamed speak in forgotten tongues,
Whispering remnants of places visited only by slumber's grace.
Don't the stars blink knowingly,
Their light a book written ages ago in the ink of distance...

What lies between the lucid and the imagined?
Here, in the interstice, a truth is found amidst illusion's dance.
Fragmented reminders of temporal whiffs linger,
As the heartbeats of unseen worlds echo across voids.

Beneath the surface of reality's gentle stream,
Shadows of dreams forgotten weave through the current.
As consciousness stretches its limbs, ever curious,
Yes, it asks — where do the echoes of a world never lived go?