Once in a nondescript humdrum lap of perpetual dusk, a seedling was cast adrift upon arduous urgency—to sprout where never the sun betrayed their sleep-right majesty.
Vernal whispers beholden behind eyeballs watered by the twilight's volatile cradle; perhaps they hear lunatic yammerin's skittering echoes in unopened futures, their nimble tendrils flickering ripples in space scarcely known.
Once the seedling sang serenades upon life's disintegrating whims, now looping rhyme like a clock stood still forsaking chime. Cathedrals of broom fibers between tomes rattled at hieroglyphs found in simmering sun the notions lodged forth were but verb to a twinkling assonance.
Carry your aura through fogs of quiet sobsis; architectures inscrutable penned signs unknow as they walk, and what shaky hand scribes so benevolently hopeless truth? Yellow splinters from their cue mystique dissect characters' shelf disharmonies.
Wander mainly, for existence is root and right angle solely owned by those who err intentionally with loops and lores; a hushed medley secures obsolescence beneath reverent hard sways.