In the margins of time, where the whispers linger,
the ink of calming dreams writes upon the pages of never.
A feather falls, untouched by earthly hands,
drifting down into untouched lands...
In the solitude of summer storms, echoes form,
a tapestry woven in the warmth of the forgotten
sleeps among the creatures of the stars above.
Ethereal prophets laugh on graffitied skies,
offering fragments of hope, gibberish wise
scribes clenching quills, carving riddles that bind
tender voices crossed within the universe's kind.