As I tread upon the ethereal shores of the cosmic ocean, shifting grains whisper of forgotten tales, scuttling memories without roots. Each breath comes laced with the perfume of nebulas, swirling tendrils inviting an embrace of radiance and ruin.
With starlit hands, I stretch towards verdant luminescence flourishing around translucent dunes, where echoes of laughter intertwine with the sighs of long-lost worlds. What dance do the dust motes perform in this, the theater of dreams?
The heavens quiver with aspirations, as alien wings unfold mirthfully, revealing verses in constellated elegance. A waltz of existence spirals into chaos, where thoughts cascade into comets. Will wanderers seek their hearth or lose themselves in the vortex of fantasies?
Poised between time, I pen verses of a never-realized song, wishing to cradle echoes of vibrant paradoxes—life sprouting like luminous flora amidst the pale. What if, perchance, a grain of salt captured a solar flare, and madness became clarity?