The chair wobbles.
Speak, restraint.
The moon observes, dispassionate.
Ripplings
"Seven shadows, one light," she mutters,
"the soup's ambition knows no bounds."
Walls have ears, but they prefer silence.
A symphony of whispers, moaning.
Mirages
Echoes in a labyrinth of thoughts,
twisted corridors, moth-eaten tomes.
Fractures
"What lies beyond the horizon?"
The question of a forgotten puppet.