The crossroads whisper in silent fractals,
where nothing but theory paints the void.
Oh, paradox of the wandering star;
your light dances on the edge of reason.

Inkless pages scream in colored silence,
tales are told in the shimmer of unspoken words.
A melody of lost sequences,
croons beneath the geometrical ballet.

Wanderer of the echoing planes,
seek not the door, but the frame that binds.
In the infinite loop of the spiral’s curve,
we discover our reflections—twisted yet whole.

Where do we step, if not into ourselves?
A fractal journey of self-similar hearts,
each beat a paradox,
each pause a crossroads anew.