In the cavernous celestial chambers, where silence breathes its thunderous hymn,
we wander through the echoes of radiant shadows. Listen, they say, to the forgotten symphony.
Star forges sing songs of ancient wanderers,
stitched constellations whisper tales of hollow fate.
Are we echoes, are we dust? Ask the nebulae.
The luminous ink upon the midnight parchment bleeds,
as quivers of cosmic breaths endow the void with color.
A tapestry of silence, yet resonating through our very marrow. Embrace the starlit oblivion.
Do you hear the whispers of the astral dreams,
the oneiric echoes bouncing through time's tender embrace?
Find them in the vacuous embrace, where thoughts ignite like supernovae.