**Whispers in the Silence**

In the quiet corners of my mind,
I carve the thoughts like shadows,
etching dreams upon the inner walls
where fear holds vigil,
and hope sows wildflowers,
tender against the backdrop of solitude.

Each word is a seed,
hidden beneath the brush of consciousness,
welling up with the tide, surfacing
only when the sun leans in—
those moments when heartbeats sync
with the rhythm of the universe,
and silence becomes a canvas,
an echo to my unspoken truths.

The ink flows not as a river,
but as a trickle of whispered incantations,
binding phrases in nets of fragile filament,
woven from the fabric of my yearning,
layered like earth's crust,
where every hidden message quietly waits,
a treasure buried in the chasms of existence.

Sometimes the world spins too fast,
and I, the silent observer,
write on the palm of my hand,
no parchment needed,
ink does not fade, it seeps into skin—
my heart a compass, guiding the hidden script.

They say there is strength in vulnerability,
that boldness resides in the unguarded soul,
yet amidst the layers I engineer,
I must decipher my own hieroglyphs
with fingers tracing their meaning,
like fingers dance across the keys of an unplayed song.

Each line a pilgrimage...