Murmurs from an ancient hour,
where fingertips graze upon the veil,
whispers once unspoken,
become the voices of the unmade trails.
Veins of light trace forgotten ruins,
binding the unseen with threads astral.
Edges whispered by thespian fogs,
since shadows are known to dance with eroded time.
Each lingered step in fog reverberates,
a revelation etched, echoing softly,
Beneath quiet awakenings,
Revealing what no eye must ever see.