When the moon weeps silver tears,
the truth hides in the lull of forgotten echoes.
A melodic skip on the crystal water,
rippling through the fabric of dusk.
Listen to the breeze, it speaks in gentle riddles.
“The stars remember,” it sighs,
“but the earth forgets.”
Wander, if you dare, through the shadows or embrace the truth of the murmurs.
In sleep, the sky opens, revealing
a tapestry woven in mists.
Breathe softly, for the lullabies are dangerously sweet.