The Whispered Echoes
They come at dusk
.
Lip vibrations that fold like ancient waves,
Sliding beneath forgotten grave markers,
Holding maps of sound, echoing charts of old.
Carved in the syntax of silence.
Frequencies intertwine, a dance of waves grasping
secret methodologies
,
vibrating through the hollow bones of ages
Scattering light through spectral hands
Infiltrating the sanctum of dreams.
What whispers beneath the thorns?
What beats beneath the skin of the cosmic?
Tread lightly, traveler,
Your footsteps echo against the stone tablets etched
With prayers to the unseen.