Cycles Within Entropy's Dance

In the twilight of whispers,
where stars bleed silver ink
onto the parchment of the obsidian sky,
a spiral of forgotten echoes breathes.

The moon, a silent observer,
watches as galaxies waltz
in the embrace of silent gravity wells,
carving paths through the fabric of night.

Each twirl, each curve,
a shadow of the heart's own rhythm;
pulsing, echoing, lying dormant
in the cycles of every tide and time.

Are destinies etched in constellations,
or woven in the dreams of slumbering stars?
Beneath the chaos, beneath the lull,
lies the truth of cycles,
fragile, infinite, ever whispering.