Upon the cathedral's silent altar lies a tapestry of twilight dreams,
fragments of whispered secrets woven through echoes of ancient murmurs.
Here, moonlight spills ghostly silver, tracing harted prays overhead,
inscriptions of sunlight—woven from shadows, longing to be felt, not seen.
In an abyssal hand lies the key, engraved with tokens of forgotten legacy,
while shadows dance in flickering disguise, a masquerade of the unseen
In whispers, the echoes answer.
Melancholic cries bleed through—past embraces fading, never breaking,
like midnight oil upon an undo~ing crimson page.
Yawning depths and starlit vaults cradle broken dreams—murmurs of fate,
stories begun in twilight, lost in echo.[silent passage reclaiming the light]
Over each desolate whisper lies a candle–burned to its end, a sleep unbroken,
forever in a paradox of daylight fading toward home.