Ornate Void

In broken whispers, the tapestry spoke,
threads woven by hands unseen.

"Adorn your solitude with echoes," she said,
as the moon hung like a forgotten coin.

An argument between shadows,
one claimed the stars were but the eyes of the lost.

"Let the silence sing," replied the second,
not knowing the melody was a coffin's whisper.

Through the cracks of the dream,
voices linger like perfume in a breeze.

A laugh here, a tear there,
each emotion a note in a long-lost symphony.