Beneath the moss-laden canopy of forgotten woods,
where shadows weave forgotten tales,
lie the genesis of whispers untold.
Like soft echoes dancing on brittle leaves,
they trace the silhouette of unseen forms.
Their voices spilled upon the earth
like silver threads in a tapestry of dusk.
No faces, but silhouettes etched in mist,
guiding you through waltzes of stars,
starlit enigmatic corridors.
What visions do they hold?
Glimpses of tomorrow's whispers?
Or yesterday's haunting sighs,
carried by the breath of an ancient wind?
You stand upon the threshold,
the goal and void entwined.