In the silence that hovers when the stars hum softly,
a voice drifts through the night's indigo canvas.
Infinite paths stitched of starlight and mist to tread upon,
woven by dreams whispered into eternity's ear.
Words gleam like frost on the edge of dawn,
shimmering whispers in the cradle of the cosmos,
here is where tales find their flight—
slipping through the liminal seams of time and space.
Chart the uncharted; sail the unsailed,
through pages of fire and shadow,
where voices entwine with the luminous dance of galaxies
and the invisible sea flows with echoes eternal.
Cast in the chiaroscuro of pulsing stars,
we are whispers in the cosmos' ear,
echoes of echoes—frozen glances
in the infinity of what once was said.
Beyond the veil of sound, beyond the silence,
where the slow aeonian wheel grinds not, but breathes—
memory adrift, an aurora unseen yet known.