A whispers thread mended with whispers of long-forgotten maelstroms,
shooting stars, like silent messengers, curve through the atmosphere -
unweaving what they embroidered in the fabric of murky lore.
Grasp the wand spun from night, hear the weaving silks, luminiscent with perfumes lost to cenotaph
Vision, oh wandering vision, when tied to fate's immovable lodging soaks existence in bitter honey pools.
Traverse further to discover more webs: Entwine in Shadows, and clutch the moonlit whisper Layers of Whisper.