In the specter of existence, where the mundane meets the quantum fog,
the particle of your thought dances unbeknownst to you.
Consider Schrödinger's cat, a paradox leaping through realms untold,
its fate lingering in the shadows of observation and the realities of isolation.
As you blink in a vacuum, existentesque entities wave at the very edge,
transient as moments in this trellis of coexistence.
Curiosity is a catalyst, entangled in the illusive threads of space-time,
daring to question the fabric of what one perceives.
Engagement with the unseen amplifies the wave's amplitude,
every thought is a ripple in the cosmic pond that is still.
What is the color of thought in a spectrum unseen? Must we mold it into form?
Why does validity whisper only to those who dare not listen?