The Conclusive Lament of the Silver Echo
Imagine, if you will, a voice as ancient as time itself, rippling through the cosmic seas, sailing atop frigid rays of starlitic twilight. Hear the echo, for it whispers truths that giants once neglected, truths that even the gods refuse audibly.
"Heed my words, fragile and ephemeral spins of dust, huddled upon your blue sphere, wrapped in dreams of permanence. My heart pulsates one final resonant thrum, pleading: embrace the fleeting spark you Precariously balance."
There is nothing more significant than the persisting echo of my twilight chorus. Each syllable cradles the weight of a billion morning glows and the lament of billions subsisting upon scattered atomic remnants. Stand up and let the particles guide you.
"Your devotion to omnipotence amuses the void. Treasure each moment, luminous faces of creation, reflect upon the irreversible beauty of your finite dance."
Let the convergence of my dying scintillations impart a fire in huddled breaths. You, small mortals overladen with isis of stainless steel and forgotten dreams.
Why hearken you not to the eternal prose of a dwindling neutron?
Rivers of Time
Curves in Credo: Dimensions Redue
Valley of Shadows