The sky murmurs tales of shadows and light—
footprints on the moon made of echoes,
as if the stars blink in faulty Morse code
revealing secrets only understood
by the nightwind's whisper.
Do you hear it? This endless symphony of silence,
a clockwork sky spinning in reverse,
pixels glitching across the universal canvas
as algorithms of constellations rewrite
the stories etched in cosmic dust.
Flickering dreams leak through the seams—
nebulae painted in forgotten hues,
Jovian orbs swirling in digital ether—
and the quiet hum of a celestial machine
that breathes in binary beneath
the dewy crowns of starlit forests.
Pause, breathe
exist.
Among stardust paths and luminous trails,
in the cozy embrace of black velvet twilight,
all is encrypted, all is
predictive,
yet mysteriously unbroken.