In the darkness of a sunless noon,
whispers growl beneath the sky's velvet.
Fleeting words,
hisses that linger.
Drink deep this beneficial poison,
let it marinate in unknown corridors.
Murmurs in the echoing void surprise
the ears that listen to shadows' requiem.
An eternal dialogue with silence itself,
its meaning a tapestry woven in dreams.
Walk these lines, find the echo,
and hear the voice of the void.
Beneath your feet, a thousand songs echo,
mere whispers, yet they hold the universe.
Do not fear the echo; it is your own.
Do not fear the void; it is the womb of creation.
Silence becomes a whisper,
and dream becomes sound.