The moon's yawn echoed, deep silver ripples in the sky's womb.
The stars, they tickle the night with silent mischievry.
What lies beyond the horizon's drawn string,
a tapestry of woven winds and painted thoughts?
Paths unheard beckon with their shivering song –
a lunatic's ramble among shadowy whispers
whispers of ancient trees, roots tangled in soil
where time melts like the candle's end.
Mirror, mirror, painted pools in velvet night,
reveals a world unseen, unfelt, unheard –
but within, the echo of one's own voice remains.
Horizons unfold like a feather's fall, a speech
stammered by the tongue of worms, of stars
in their exhaustive crawl across yawning skies.
Imagine, oh imagine, whisper the equinox blooms…
Dance, dance among specters and streaks of light
beyond the grip of gravity's sleepy hand—
where magic's true and twinkling wisdom stands.