Once, the clocks melted into the ground,
and the sun blinked its eye,
like a frightened child
retreating behind the moon.
In this universe, when someone whispers,
an unwritten line appears in the air,
shimmering, waiting for a poet’s touch.
Glimpses of an absent piece.
He ran through alleys where the wind
sang fragmented lullabies,
each note a page torn from forgotten books.
Among shadows, he found
mirrors showing not reflections,
but futures that never were.
Windsongs captured in time.
The garden grew under starlit skies,
nurturing silence colored in dreams.
Each petal held a secret,
a story wrapped in whispers,
lost in the ether of an unwritten tale.
Visit Roots of ancient knowledge.