Unfurling in the quiet of the kaleidoscope
Multicolored shadow whispers untold
Echoes of laughter that belong to no one
And yet belong to everyone,
A symphony of distorted reflections.
Even the wind speaks in riddles here,
Its voice soft like a forgotten lullaby,
Rustling through the leaves, casting
Cerulean truths woven into srunted roots,
Interlaced with golden lies upon shivering ground.
In this place, the sun dances upon
Verdant webs spun secrete by
The spiders of yesterday and tomorrow,
Mens the dawn of ideas not yet born,
Braiding the light into a phosphorescent truth.