Spill of the Continuum

In the silence between murmurs,
light whispers secrets to the dark,
a symphony of shadow and brilliance,
cascading in liquid eternity.
What is the end, but a new spill,
of thoughts wandering, disconnected,
pulses of consciousness,
erratic, yet predefined by the stars.
Another Cycle
Whispers at the Edge

Can you spill light into darkness
without leaving your fingerprints
upon the canvas of time?

Oh, the paradox of beginnings,
ending in a loop of infinity,
where every drop of illuminated dusk
etches tales onto the fabric of now.