Daybreak, the horizon bleeds silver,
Whispers of constellations paint an unseen map.
Stars align, echoing tales of mariners lost
In seas of time unfathomable.
A beacon flickers—A lighthouse?
No, a sentinel of the void,
Guardian of stories untold,
And forgotten lullabies sung to the night.
Time bends, as I chronicle these journeys:
Through nebulous passages, I traverse,
Charting the constellations of your dreams,
Mapping the contours of your whispers...
"To the farthest bound of the cosmos, where echoes find solace..."
Seek not the destination, but the wind that guides you,
For each star is a memory, an implied port in the sky.