Long before the dawn of reason
there were whispers in twilight threads,
fabrics of forgotten histories.
In them, dreams sewed onto minds
like beads of condensation on autumn leaves.
Listen closely, and you may hear the melodies of a forgotten loom—
the distant hum of a web pulling stars across the sky.
Crafted by hands unseen, guided by the missed signals
of a starlit past drifting adrift.
These are symbols burning softly, glinting as they flicker
like the breath of a slumbering universe.
Sewn into the secret patterns of night, telling tales
of galaxies spinning stories in the void.