Voices woven through the breath of galaxies,
a gentle hum at the edge of quietness.
Can you hear them?
Lost echoes, a mirror of a dream—
time split where the sun kisses the horizon,
what speaks next is unseen.
The longing is a river,
veins of stars running deep under worlds unknown.
Messages drift, searching for shores.
Fragment of thought, transmitted across:
Murmur
a whisper suspended in twilight.
Within the dance of perception,
whispers become waves,
oscillating in the sea of existence.
Find me not in words,
for they are dust in time;
Silent, I exist within you.
Shall we look beyond the waiting doors:
the Gate, a sentinel,
stands guard atop the precipice, dreaming.