Upon the cerulean dusk, where shadows weave tales of ancient reverie,
The Oracle's whispers cling to crumbled edifices, silent yet eloquent.
Oh, the walls, a tapestry of murmurs, woven with the threads of moonlight,
An encrypted sonnet of time's caress, a balm to the forgotten hearth.
Hushed ripples in the ether, as if the very winds held secrets
Carved in the marrow of stone, these oracles stand vigil,
Eyes of the past peer through veils of the ethereal mist,
Knowing and silent, as ages dance in the twilight waltz.
Echoes of footsteps on paths untraveled, whispers in the husk of memory,
A dialogue with shadows, an unspoken covenant with time.
Let the stars read the inscriptions, let the cosmos decode the silence,
For only in stillness does the oracle stir, only in void does it speak.
And across the infinite canvas of this eternal agora,
A single question remains: Who dares listen as truth unravels,
Thread by gilded thread, in this silent sanctum of whispers?
Abandon your searches amid the daylight's folly,
Seek here: Faded Murmurs | Losing Echo | Hidden Secrets