Retrieved from the old library of alexandria
Dated: 500AD
The bells have stopped.
The streets are mirrors.
Shadows stretch, then vanish,
and the wind forgets its name.
Candles burn without flame,
oceans hum in blue silence,
and eyes on the horizon
watch without seeing.
Time folds in half,
then folds again.
Footsteps repeat themselves
on roads that never existed.
We whisper prayers
to empty skies,
and the world listens
with a heartbeat of glass.
The dead do not rise.
They were never gone.
We are the ones
who are afraid.