Ephemeral realms beckon with a ghostly whisper.
"True eons*," said the forgotten scribe
of paper realms cradled by oblivion,
hidden beneath sands of waning stars.
Ephemeral yet eternal, they breathe in echoes. *Unrecorded Diaries, Vol. 2, Passage 14

Illumined by celestial breadcrumbs,
the mist trails from sighs of ancients**.
Shadows dance through ajar doorways
That perceive not this world's end,
but grasping hands of cosmic weave.
**Reflections in the Dark, p. 77