Do you hear the winds of uterine memories?
They cascade into the chasms woven tight with dreams,
silken and pale are the echoes.
In the confluence of alien melodies,
An unseen thrum braids time anew — heed it not.
Delve further:
a matrix of echoes shall unfold
where intensity reflects the shadow's kiss. transient growth
or perhaps a veil of light celestial weave?
The whispers trace realms beyond the known
not of substance, but essence — an exhalation of stars.
place of inception or the unseen horizon.