“Whispers Beneath the Crimson Sun”

Beneath a sky where fire meets peace,

The crimson sun begins to cease,

Its bleeding light on waters still,

A hush upon the island hill.

Where emerald trees in silence grow,

And pink-winged dreams begin to show,

Flamingos stand in gentle grace,

Like thoughts that time forgot to trace.

White swans in mirrored silence glide,

Their shadows trailing by their side,

While clouds drift soft with breathless care,

And secrets shimmer in the air.

The boat, untouched by any hand,

Floats quietly near mystic land.

No oar, no voice, just quiet sound,

Of twilight sighing all around.

Birds in flight, a midnight script,

Across the sun, now softly dipped.

They carry tales from distant skies,

Of love, of loss, of lullabies.

This isle — a dream the world let be,

A whispered song in twilight sea.

Where time forgets to move ahead,

And magic speaks in light instead.

So pause and drift, and let it show,

The things your heart still longs to know.

For here within this painted grace,

You’ll find the soul’s most secret place.