In the tapestry of twilight
woven threads of yesteryears.
whispers entwined in smoke,
breathe life into forgotten echoes.
Each chime—a gateway.
Listen closer; the cycle hums
softly syncopated by the heartbeat
of ancient woods, of stones revered.
Step with intent upon the dew-kissed glade,
where mist forms cryptic glyphs.
Seek the archway fashioned from silver’s dream,
beyond lies the realm with no clocks,
here, all time sipped through a sieve made of stars.
Embrace the clandestine murmurs,
they hold keys to doors long sealed.