Once upon a whispering of night, where shadows breathe and light forgets.
The sky's tapestry - strewn with forgotten dreams, celestial tears hold stories
unspoken, silenced by the turns of eons. Orion's belt, achingly familiar, but who
wears it - friend or shadowed foe? We speak now like wise apes babbling star strategies;
the chaser mists are secrets laced in ancient songs threaded through tick-tocking hearts.
Floating on these verbal meteors is a truth summoned only by deep breaths. The universe
draws us inked on cosmic parchments, nervous hands clutching astrolabes of our own design.
Did you ever wonder about the echoes carried by dusk? Each fragment a constellation of
thoughts grieving the sunrise’s tyranny. Names like Velos, whispered with reverent sighs,
trace the futures sketched with ink of the past. Opening circles where one person sat asking
just how many roads lead galaxies away, yet how few feet remain imprinting this tethered
soil repetitively.
Shadows between thoughts—remembering who told what dreamed story of stars singing?
Dancing Shadows sing above; applause goes westward
told by
celestial charts filled with forgotten ink and spoken lines.
Each line an impossible bridge built of moonstone glimmer—a leap itching until grasped,
unseen bridges each script must cross in the twilight ink pools binding glares.
Yet whispers ask—how do you greet quicksilver constellations awaiting introductions?