Whispers through the ceaseless corridors of time...
Gather, gather before the nebulae.
Hear their song, a curious hymn celestial,
In tendrils of stellar mist they fly,
An aeon scribe on cosmic parchment leaf.
A ponderous silence drapes the unseen ties,
As wormholes wink in gravity's keep,
Each twinkling vein, a truth contrived,
Writ among the Shadows where Entropy weeps.
Do they speak of pasts as future lulls?
Do galaxies spin fresh destinies rapid?
Or merely we trace the spin of pulses spun,
In echoes, echoes of forgotten whims, fabled.
Later fades the astral waltz unto its dawn,
Each whisper's litany—their infinite sonnet sung.