The skyline whispered digits: 3.14, a pie long forgotten, nestled in the folds of time.
Where the wind writes its arcane sonnets, the stars align as Alpha and Omega cast their shadows.
Nether sands hum vibrations - singing sands, where footprints retrace stories untold.
Locks of the mind twist with a .bat of the eye; relinquish the key hidden in the fog of what was.
Listen, for the silent clock ticks not in seconds, but in crystallized moments.
Beyond the forgotten pathway, runes sleep, their whispers long obsolete, yet vibrating still.
Charcoal scribbles dance upon the wall - an ode to unearthed memories, ephemeral as dawn's sigh.