Through the void, a hum, an echo of forgotten stars,
whispers bound in light-years-etched space.
What tales do these whispers tell, cradled in the arms of time?
In the mirage of silence,
the pulse of a distant heart—
a mirror, fractured, yet whole.
Listen, listen, the melody calls.
The sky's reflection, riddles sung by old comets.
Message 427...
sublime and cryptic,
sliding through the interstellar seas.
A dance of particles,
of resonant frequencies, woven into cosmic lace.
And there, a beacon—
a lighthouse for the dreamers,
the lost in the astral waves.
Fragments, disjointed signals,
yet bound by an unseen thread.
A cosmic reflection, a celestial mirror.