Marts and Moons
The Martian dusk blankets the barren, a soft whisper against the rusty sands. But the moons, oh the moons, they gather in silent vigil, curving their beams across the landscape.
Repeat, repeat—this cycle, endless, never pausing, always drawing. The winds converse in hushed tones beneath a horizon aflame with dusk’s blazing crimson.
Take heed of these paths, where stars dance their ancient choreography, where Marts tread with echoes of forgotten tales. A gathering, a parting, a gathering again...
The Martian sands, the lunar light, weaving—oh, weaving— forgotten melodies in whispered, haunting cries across the empty void.
Crescendo of windswept secrets, hush-hush of the silent heavens. Mark the moons on the dancefloor of infinity.