In the muted tapestry of thoughts,
there lies a whisper of forgotten realms.
Celestial bodies hum a lullaby,
weaving threads of silver into the fabric of night.
I drift upon the edge of yonder stars,
cradled by the sighs of distant galaxies.
Time bends and stretches like a fleeting shadow,
painting dreams upon the canvas of now.
Whisper, oh winds of the ethereal plains,
tell me tales of what has never been.
I become a mote in the cosmic dance,
and lose myself in the symphony of silence.