Within the shadows of the gentil gloaming
a lone traveler finds solace
in the echoes of previous paradises,
sculpted by ancient winds
that howl like forgotten lullabies.
Listen closely: does not the darkness sing?
Stepping upon cobblestones slick with mist,
they're paved without rhyme or reason,
a melody of stars scattered above
like broken promises woven in night.
Revere their flicker, the scattered jewels
of an indifferent cosmos turned poet.
Where you walk, twilight paints your palms
with prints of ethereal whispers,
golden truths enshrined in lunar dew.
Follow paths unthreaded by those before,
paths adorned with spectral flora breathing
the soft pangs of silence into longing hearts.