The moon bequeaths its silver whisper upon the enchanted vortex,
where threading the needle of the cosmos reveals twinkling distortion.
Oft are the fragments that slip through slideways of slumber.
In the echoes of dormant oracles, shields shimmer with neon scars;
weaving through fabrics stitched with forgotten perfumed lore.
Do dreams tend the weeds of stars that sprout?
If the eerie dirge echoes an invitation,
follow the threads spun by voidsilks, woven through existence-pane:
Unearthed Mirage or
Labyrinthine Queries.