Nebulae whispering secrets in languages forgotten,
like echoes of stars once
known by name...
The flicker of distant lights, a silent call, perhaps meditation,
perhaps madness within the vortexic embrace,
reminiscences of comets once infused by childhood dreams,
tracing trajectories across sprawling,
uncharted firmaments.
Time bends here, in this yawning
void, shivering at the edge
of perception's grasp,
its elusive tendrils dancing post-scripted(1). Time is what they said it was, or isn’t.
Remembering the pulsating
glimmers — signals
from a distant
planet perhaps, or just reflections off the observatory glass...
Follow the pathless veil, but heed well
the warning signs: a stanza from an unknown poem,
a fragment of song,
an echo of inevitable consequence,
or maybe just stray cosmic dust settling on your soul.
Stars are silent, yet their radiance chronicles the unheard story,
of worlds in sleepless wonder
and veils unperturbed.
Links None But Perhaps The Truth Lies Here: