The river bends with a thought,
bearing songs the stars have caught,
veins of meaning stitched in light,
woven through the folds of night.
The leaves murmur what was lost,
etched by time and winter's frost;
silent heralds crown the air,
secrets trembling unaware.
Cracks that split the ancient stone,
echo paths we've always known,
each fracture a whispered thread,
maps for those who choose to tread.
Lanterns drift on waking seas,
bearing unseen prophecies,
banners sewn from ghostly hands,
tracing fate across the lands.
The sparrow weaves hidden lore,
with each tremor of the shore,
its frail wings a ciphered hymn,
folding dusk at nature's brim.
Mirrors fracture into songs,
showing right disguised as wrong,
every shard a veiled decree,
every glance a boundless key.
Ashes breathe upon the loam,
chronicling the ones who roam,
writing prayers in broken dust,
truth uncoiled from silent trust.
The moon unlaces her hair,
drops her omens in the air,
every silver-threaded sigh,
bends the fabric of the sky.
Footsteps linger in the mist,
each with longing gently kissed,
marking doors that never close,
paths unseen by mortal prose.
Thus we walk with open scars,
reading hymns from fallen stars,
where the hidden truths ignite,
and darkness becomes our sight.