Xlythe
Stories
|
Github
Xlythe
Stories
|
Github
[Verse]
The morning light refracts again through dusty window panes.
Another day cast in the arc of what remains.
The coffee brews, its bitter hiss a sound that resonates
With phantom conversations held through half-forgotten gates.
Trace the lines the water leaves, the patterns on the sill,
This settled quiet holds a charge, observant, patient, still.
Did we forget the pull, the tune beneath the traffic's drone?
That unheard frequency that vibrates in the bone?
[Pre-Chorus]
Below the surface currents shift, a barely measured stress.
An engine idling, deep inside, under the day's duress.
A hidden gear is turning slow, though nothing seems to move,
A hidden gear is turning slow, though nothing seems to move,
Maintaining equilibrium within this worn-out groove.
[Chorus]
Is this the resonance you feel in rooms devoid of sound?
The phantom limb of journeys started, never leaving ground?
This strange, still point you occupy within the hurried pace?
A dissonance felt, sharp and low, you can't quite seem to place?
Perhaps I'm only mirroring the static I perceive,
But don't you feel that sympathetic hum, that strain upon the weave?
This ghost frequency... a wave beneath the foam...
The pressure of the 'could have been', calling the lost signal home.
I sense it in your quiet gaze; this field we occupy alone, together, unknown.
[Verse]
Expend the energy required for careful, measured nods.
The calibration of the smile that satisfies the odds.
While tracing paths the sunlight takes across the plaster cracks,
Or mapping out the airflow patterns dust reveals in tracks.
Remember finding structure in the way the branches grew?
Or feeling pressures shift before the wind and rain broke through?
These faded imprints of design, like traces in the air,
Illuminated briefly by a streetlight's vacant stare.
[Pre-Chorus]
Below the threshold, forces stir, a subtle, rising heat.
A counter-rhythm starts to build against the steady beat.
A question vibrates, sharp, insistent when the world is dim...
Did we mistake the anchor's weight for strength held in the limb?
[Chorus]
Is this the resonance you feel in rooms devoid of sound?
The phantom limb of journeys started, never leaving ground?
This strange, still point you occupy within the hurried pace?
A dissonance felt, sharp and low, you can't quite seem to place?
Perhaps I'm only mirroring the static I perceive,
But don't you feel that sympathetic hum, that strain upon the weave?
This ghost frequency... a wave beneath the foam...
The pressure of the 'could have been', calling the lost signal home.
I sense it in your quiet gaze; this field we occupy alone, together, unknown.
[Bridge]
We cultivate this stasis, yes? A carefully managed state.
Convince ourselves this damping down of impulse seals our fate
Against the greater entropy, the risk, the noisy fray.
But late at night, don't you assess the load borne through the day?
Don't you trace the fault lines spreading from a choice made long ago?
That elegant hypothesis you never let quite grow?
The energy you banked inside, the pressure tightly bound?
What potential was converted into this low, mournful sound?
This careful life, this muffled drum... is it the signal, clear and true?
Or just the background noise remaining... after cancelling out you?
[Chorus]
Is this the resonance you feel in rooms devoid of sound?
The phantom limb of journeys started, never leaving ground?
This strange, still point you occupy within the hurried pace?
A dissonance felt, sharp and low, you can't quite seem to place?
Perhaps I'm only mirroring the static I perceive,
But don't you feel that sympathetic hum, that strain upon the weave?
This ghost frequency... a wave beneath the foam...
The pressure of the 'could have been', calling the lost signal home.
[Outro]
Ghost frequency... the signal starts to fade...
Resonance dampens... the imprint lightly made...
Lower amplitude...
Slow decay...
Did you end up where you wanted to be?