Echo of Time's Folds

In silence, a whisper brushes the limit,
among the folds of eternity hides the secret,
a dance of shadows that grazes yesterday,
tracing a thousand traces on a cracked mirror.
There, where reflection becomes brief mysticism,
it slides light as the wind of a secret night,
between golden lights and sculpting shadows,
the sense of time is lost, delicate, faint.
A subtle tremor, dances between dream and reality,
which the heart listens to without questions or answers,
every fragment of light, a beat of eternity,
that in the whisper dissolves, in the mind unravels.
And so the reflection, among worlds touched by mystery,
remains hidden, dancing to the rhythm of the soul,
an echo that is lost, an enchanted whisper,
which only those who know how to listen hear.