The Crimson Quatrain

In the blood's whisper lies the resonant quatrain—
Four imperfect measures, surveying time's subtle beat.
A pulse exists, within intervals of hushed breaths,
Excessively crimson, flowing yet restrained.

When dissecting rhythm like a cadaver,
The heart reveals secrets, ancient and forgotten.
Knowledge hidden in breathless intervals—
Scientists of sorrow, poets of the silent.

Labyrinth of Rhythms
Explore how beats shape our paradox of power, fragility, and unexpected silence.

The Timeless Tapestry
Unveiling the fabric of sounds—a woven myth against a thrumming void.