In an age eclipsed by the dust of forgotten stars,
the echoes of our questions linger, unresolved,
a dirge sung by specters on the midnight shore.
What seeks the soul beneath its shroud of silence?
A candle flickers in the abyss, a lone sentinel,
casting shadows that dance with dissonant grace.
Is it fate or folly that guides the hand of the unseen?
We ponder the winding paths, lost in reverie,
as the moon weeps silver tears upon the hollow ground.
Beneath the surface lies a tapestry unraveled,
woven with threads of doubt and midnight lore.
Wraiths whisper secrets in languages forgotten,
their voices a symphony of despair and longing.