Seek no answers in the dust of time,
for space itself bends, untwisting in webs unseen.
In the echo of twilight, where shadows shiver,
wipe the slate of existence and draw with whispers.
Count the petals of black roses,
Five mourn the moon, seven dance in light,
under the sigils of dormant suns.
The boiling rivers of thought collide,
dragging promises unmade into currents cosmic,
where fissures drape the horizon in silk.
Link yourself to forgotten chromatic spears
that brandish hues known to hedges beyond reason.