Four whistles taken from the hollow bell,
fire slumbers in the eyes of wandering shells.
I converse with shadows taped upon the ceiling,
dreamscapes unfurl where winds loop under fell
in colors unseen but heard, felt between,
the splintered echoes in muted green.
Stark insanity dances beneath reality's beam
while looping whispers chase the hidden seam.
Follow the winding narrative of nothing at all
link them and novelize they call:
murmur.
Wander through translucent mist and broken hall:
drift.
Twist lost chronicles once more:
infinite.