In the silence of a crowded mind,
whispers of the wind carry dreams untold.
They slip like shadows through fingers,
leaving echoes in the corridors of time.

Do dreams speak in languages we cannot understand?
Or are they mere reflections of silent screams,
the cries of hope trapped in the tapestry of night?

Observe the dance, the unending waltz
of thoughts entwined with the stars.
All is transient, yet all remains forever.