Under a sky of forgetting, a red apple whispers unwritten tales
Under a sky of forgetting, a red apple whispers unwritten tales,
Beneath the snake's gaze, the mystery stretches like a canvas of dreams,
The fruit, like a bittersweet paradox, hides a fatal game,
In the dance of shadows, promises weave into a ritual.
The bright red of the apple is like a fire consuming silence,
Honeyed whispers flow through the night, promising release,
The snake coils like a thought that knows no end,
Tempting with illusions that ensnare the wandering soul.
Its ebony gaze pierces like an unknown shiver,
Like a cat losing one of its ancient lives,
Light dresses in shadows, and willpower yields with a sigh,
When the unseen power kneels a pure soul.
Waking is an echo of a dream that always repeats,
The garden, the snake, and the tree are ghosts in an old tale,
In sweat, the memory of the lost dream drowns,
Her olive-green gaze brings the peace of a kiss.
In the contrast between times, reality splits in two,
His hand gets lost in her hair, black as a new night,
An enigmatic smile guides hopes through the fog,
Questions arise from answers that remain secretly kept.
In the end, the cold revelation pierces like a lucid thought:
The dream is but a shadow of what we believe we know,
In the labyrinth of knowledge, we lose and find ourselves again,
And in life's waking sleep, the truth is a wandering dream.
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