Mist swirled in fractal dances, a hushed testament to realms unseen,
nestled in the shadows of diachronic whispers,
echoing lullabies of untold eternity,
as each breath stitches time anew,
forgotten melodies.
Beneath the canopy of starlit solitudes,
where ancient arenas cradle whispered secrets,
shadows untangle threads of stories lost,
like ghosts exhaling verses into dawn's embrace,
hidden oaths.
In recesses of yonder cliffs, sorrow sings
the world's quiet elegy,
cradling dreams that slip through silence,
effervescent, like dew upon the breaking yeasts of morning,
emerging dreams.
Through the mist, a whisper lingers in twilight's cradle,
an echo of the refrain sung by the nightingales,
an enigma without a name,
inferences cloaked in riddles, only fate can unravel,
secrets unveiled.