The ancient winds whisper stories untold,
through hieroglyphs of forgotten tongues
upon the ivory clouds above.
They map the constellations of bygone thoughts,
tracing paths through ethereal veins.
In a time before words meant what they do now,
a sage leans against a cosmic tree,
its roots twisting through the fabric of days passed,
its leaves a myriad of celestial scribes.
Observe the tale of the wandering star,
drifting from constellation to constellation,
seeking its kind in the vast ocean of light.
Does it question its journey,
or revel in the solitude of its orbit?
These texts of time—a silent conversation,
etched into the fabric as mystic hieroglyphs,
beckon the traveler of thought
to unravel their purpose or embrace their mystery.