Through veils of whispering luminescence, a path unwinds. Where do the treads of loper beckon? Silently unfolding, a map with no ink. Its dimensions gauged by lumens unbound and devoid of spectres.
Amber thoughts encapsulated in wisp, for we drift, suspended in luminosity. Can its heart be found beating beneath crafted secrets, under the great dome of hypothesis?
In between sleeps of the ethereal horizon, echoes of a prelude. An orchard of paths reveal their dormant dreams. A voice half-sung, half-secret: To find oneself, unfind everything.
Clarity Hymn