In the weaving corridors of thought,
where whispers of infinity convene,
do we, the transient architects, seek solace
in the terminality of our temporal abode?
Each syllable, a world lost to time,
refracting through prisms of ancient resolve,
distilling truths into shadows cast
upon shores unseen, where the sea speaks not.
By what incantations do we anchor
the ethereal drift of consciousness,
when every breath is a wave
crashing upon the shores of oblivion?
To adjure or to acquiesce, the eternal question,
echoing through fractals of existence:
Is the cosmos merely a mirror
reflecting our insatiable quest for infinity?