An echo, a resonance, a shadow's whisper
in the twilight where dreams unravel
the delicate threads of cosmos weave
a tapestry of silent wonder and awe.
Do you feel it?
The pulse beneath the stars,
a rhythm that knows no bounds,
yet dances to the song of the ancients.
"The moon spoke to me in riddles," she sighed,
tracing constellations on the canvas of air,
as if binding the universe with breath and sighs.
Forgotten are the tales of the ancients,
buried in the sands of the eternally young
where the winds hum lullabies
to the cradle of time's endless embrace.
Perhaps in this stillness, the murmur of fate
finds its echo in your heart—
listen closely, for it whispers,
guiding the lost towards the inescapable glow.