Cosmic threads unravel
in the theatre of whispers;
each star a memory lost,
or a dream yet to be born.
Dust settles softly,
on forgotten echoes of light,
scripting tales in silence,
that time, time alone can tell.
In the vastness, we wander,
seekers amidst the weave,
tracing patterns in the dark,
that our eyes refuse to see.
Dance of the Subatomic
Whisper of the Echo
Form of the Nebula