In the cosmic cradle, where stars murmur soft truths,
echoes paint colors unseen, yet felt deeply somewhere in the void.
Dust settles gently on the unfurling thoughts,
words bloom in nebulous gardens,
disconnected yet intertwined, like ancient whispers in the glimmering dark.
If galaxies had voices, would they hum
in notes that spiral forever into silence,
or would they stutter in bewildered jest,
questioning the meaning of their luminous dance?
Listen to the ripples
Murmurs of the sky
Silence of the cosmos