Whispers Beyond The Verdant Veil

Beyond the cusp of twilight’s breath,

Where time dissolves in dreaming death,

There lies a vale the stars conceal—

A realm too wild, too far to feel.

No maps may chart its virid grace,

No mortal foot may trace its face,

Yet whispers rise from leaf and stone,

Like chants of gods now overthrown.

I wandered there, a soul unmoored,

By sorrow’s storm and fate’s accord,

Through thickets laced in silver dew,

Where moonlight weeps in spectral hue.

The trees wore crowns of emerald flame,

Each branch a tongue, each root a name.

They spoke in rhymes no man could pen,

Of secrets known ere birth of men.

I met a stag with eyes of coal,

Its breath was wind, its step a scroll.

It bowed to me, then dashed through air,

And vanished in a mythic glare.

A zephyr kissed my weary brow,

And told of dreams the dead allow.

It sang of queens who ruled the rain,

And bled their thrones to end the chain.

Then came a maid with crystal skin,

Her voice a harp, her gaze a sin.

She asked me not of why or how,

But bade me wear a thornèd crown.

“O pilgrim from the outer lands,

You seek what slips through dying hands.

The truths you chase are woven lies—

They fade beneath these breathing skies.”

She danced through light and melted mist,

Her fingers etched with fate’s own twist.

She bore no fear, no fleshly wile—

Just silence, and a knowing smile.

I cried, “Am I but shade or spark?

A fading hymn in endless dark?”

She whispered low, “You are the thread

That binds the quick unto the dead.”

The veil then broke like morning glass,

The world behind—a gilded mass.

The trees bowed low; the waters stilled,

As if the breath of gods had filled.

I left that place with eyes anew,

With moss beneath and heavens blue.

But now I speak in broken tone,

For part of me remains unknown.

Each night I dream that verdant shore,

Where time’s a leaf and less is more.

Where words unspoken bloom and burn,

And all forgotten truths return.

So heed me, soul with restless stride,

Beware the veil where secrets bide.

It grants you more than tales or lore—

It takes your peace… and gives you more.

But what I glimpsed, no tongue can frame

A truth too vast, too wild to name.

It wasn't death, nor merely dream,

But life's undone and sacred seam.

Now silence hums within my chest,

As if I walked, yet never rest.

I bear no wound, yet bleed unseen,

A ghost of who I once had been.

And should you pass that hidden lea,

The veil may part—though not for free.

It costs not gold nor vow nor flame,

But all you are, and not the same.

So mark these words, let doubt impale:

Some doors stay shut

beneath the veil.

Some songs remain—forever frail.

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