In the cradle of oblivion,
whispers conjoin,
flirting with the cusp of memory. Voices embrace the void, however hesitant...
Each grain a fragment,
serenading stars unknown,
in orchestral harmony— synthetic, yet sanguine.
Time bows, a perfumed veil,
a realm gently convened by silence.
Amongst the scrolls ancient,
an echo, a murmur:
tales of wanderers' shores,
faceless, voiceless—yet with dreams alive. Soul, kissed by the horizon's ember...