The absence of sound speaks volumes, yet the echo of thoughts pierces the stillness.
"In the depths of quiet, a storm rages within; the lunatic ponders, the shadows listen."
Why do the moons wax and wane, when the stars have no rhythm of their own? Speak, forgotten skies, of the dance unseen.
Perchance, the earth beneath holds tales of silenced whispers, relics of voices engulfed in time's embrace.
The clocks tick absent-minded, a symphony of solitude unheard by the crowded heart.