Do you hear it? The rustle beyond the void, where echoes dare not tread.
Silence is not empty; it is full of words unspoken.
A canvas stretched too taut, beyond the painter's grasp.
Inside the hollow, there's a rhythm—constantly pulsating, yet poised.
Listen... the vacuum murmurs tales of yesteryears and tomorrows.

Frenetic thoughts collide, reverberating into a disjointed symphony.
Shadows grow long; light bends, fractals dancing on edges.
What is beyond the beyond, if not an invitation to dance with shadows?
One foot in the now, the other... well, that depends on which path whispers louder.