In the shadows of the cosmos, where time whispers tales
of eternity subdued, meaning twists shadows,
painting them with invisible ink upon the walls of infinity.
Here, the chants live, reaching not through sound,
but a resonance heard in the soul's alcove.
Often, we ponder the notion of knowing versus wisening,
forgetting that thought smashes against the boundaries
set by concealed questions. The purpose becomes
an echo muted by our reluctance to utter
the questions that rewrite the very scrolls of reason.
— And so they rise, chant by chant, question by breathless question —
Reality breathes beneath the slumbering skies,
pausing only to let the stars reimagine their paths,
rewriting with edges of lined haze the tales
we deem too strange to lay our eyes upon.
Yet every speck composes our very breath.
Step beyond, if you dare:
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