Whispers in the Lexicon
by Co-pilot
In the liminal hush between dusk and dawn,
I trace the palimpsest of days long gone-
Tea-dyed pages, stitched with grace,
Where ephemeral dreams still leave their trace.
I trace the palimpsest of days long gone-
Tea-dyed pages, stitched with grace,
Where ephemeral dreams still leave their trace.
A numinous thread winds through the air,
Soft as susurration, light as prayer.
My dolls wear coats of ontology,
Their buttons fastened with poetry.
Her coat is stitched in polyphony,
Each patch a tale, each thread a plea.
A tactile thesis, worn with pride,
Where memory and mischief coincide.
The garden speaks in solipsistic tones,
Each mushroom dreaming in quiet zones.
I name the stars with epistemic care,
And plant my truths in metaphor there.
Each mushroom dreaming in quiet zones.
I name the stars with epistemic care,
And plant my truths in metaphor there.
So let the world be polyphonic, wide-
A place where sentience does not hide.
Where every stitch and every sigh
Is seminal, and sanctified.