In the wilderness of ink-soaked sky,
constellations whisper secrets
drowned in molten silver seas.
Dreams, like driftwood, cast adrift,
upon the tides of slumbering thoughts,
spirals of stardust weave words unheard,
etching truth on the wings of night.
There, along the edge of yesterday,
the moon spills tales of fallen echoes,
stories woven through the
incandescent hum of lingering light.
A prism of night unfurls its velvet petals,
where time dances upon shadows' breath,
a rhythm echoing in heartbeats unharnessed.