In the folds of night, a whisper echoes,
gentle as the gravity of unmade dreams.
Once, they floated like ballooned moons,
vast in their intention, rooted in oblivion.
Our soles upon unseen seas,
navigate the astral void, tethered to the umbra.
Celestial tapestry, woven in slumber,
hemmed by the horizons of forgotten tongues.
Existence in orbit around memory's pallor,
an odyssey scripted in ghostly whispers.
Caught in the gloam between then and forever,
they hum, a melody, intangible, yet familiar.