A violet bell in silence tolls,
It rings within forgotten folds,
Where time drips slow from phantom bowls,
And memory hides in marbled holes.

Through amber mist, the shadows grow,
They dance on roots of emerald flame,
A river hums of long ago,
Yet none who drink leave quite the same.

In every wind, a whisper bends,
A name unsaid, a thread undone,
The orchard dreams where meaning ends,
And moons collapse into the sun.

The bell still tolls where no one goes,
Its song for stars that none suppose,
Each echo blooms like haunted rose,
And wilts in hush the silence chose.