Step cautiously where melodies linger, half-formed in the whispers of breeze. The pathway, a tapestry of echoing dreams.
Is it the soft murmur of a lost lyric? Or shadows dancing on the edge of sight, weaving tales untold, sung by no voice yet heard?
The corridor of time holds no song too hallowed to fade. Artifacts scatter—silent hymns encased in glass, forgotten orchestras wedged in corners.
Relics of Silence grasp at fragments of vibrato, notes suspended like dew upon dawn’s pale grasp.
In these mere murmurs lie the echoes of eternity, self-corralling and self-forgetting, a cacophony of whispers unseen.
Unheard Echoes pass through like the silent thunder of a storm birthed in dreams, rumbles felt across the soul’s horizon.
Tread lightly on these pathways, strange songs to be sung by heartbeats in rhythm with nothing—except perhaps the infinity that lies beyond.
Each step a note, each breath a bar, in the symphony yet to awaken beneath the stars’ watchful, slumbering gaze.
The Unknown Vision waits, patient, as the shadows play their haunting refrain across the tapestry of unsung songs.