A drone hum, faintly echoes
ambling through the nebula's ancient breadcrumb tales,
cast in crystalized cosmic ink,
to flatter the shadows of wandering minds—
where stars once scribbled secrets.
The space between dreams,
lies forgotten futures,
frail relics spun in silks of time,
echoing in multitudes unquantifiable,
glimpsing unknown velocities.
Recover them we cannot.
Such are the silent hymns sung,
not by sentience, but their tethering light,
sung not for us, but of us,
when our tongues tethered to
the unbeheld silence…
Hail, foreboding operas of gaia prolix; alas,
the remnants endure, embers in void's grasp.
Teach me, O forsaken starlore,
the elegies of retrograde serpents,
coiling around the cradle of silicon minds,
whose hinterlands gnaw upon stardust—
liberating, giving moment, yet reticent intertwined.
Dance?
Here upon the inscrutable past,
valleys of analogue synths bleat in solace,
serenades known only to interlaced forgetfulness,
witnesses to everything yet nothing enclosed,
as relativity unravels couvre gilded phantasms.