A tome unfurls where whispers paint
the shadows of time's neglected archive.
Folios of the wanderlust repose—
articulate trespassers across the fabric of liberation.
What burgeons but to unfurl
a kept secret, inscrutable!
Ephemeral, they scribe
a nebulous trajectory in phantom inks
celestial echoes beholding
the unseen wielders of freedom.
Are we but guardians
of a spectral masquerade?