The Land of Whispers

Beyond the realm of sound,
Where whispers of the past resound,
Lies a land of hidden truths,
Where secrets of the past astound.

The paths are made of fading footprints,
And the trees rustle with untold stories,
The sky is a canvas of secrets,
And the rivers flow with hidden glories.

Butterflies made of whispers,
Flutter through the air,
While the shades of the past,
Wander in search of answers that are rare.

A portal made of moonstone,
Carved with ancient runes,
Invites me to enter in,
To the land where secrets and whispers are strewn.

And as I step through the portal,
I am greeted by a world of mystery,
Where the past and present intertwine,
And the secrets of the land, I try to see.

I walk through gardens of secrets,
Watching as they bloom and unfold,
I swim in rivers of hidden knowledge,
And dance with the shades of the old.

The sky is always dark,
And the sun never rises,
But in this land, nothing is as it seems,
And the secrets of the past, always surprise.

I see a clock that runs backwards,
And a mirror that reflects the past,
I hear the whispers of the land,
And the secrets of the past, are finally cast.

As I wander through this Land of Whispers,
I am filled with a sense of awe,
For in this place, the past is present,
And the secrets of the land, I can now know.