beneath twilight canvases,
the journey murmurs softly,
endless paths etched in silence,
weaving between dreams untold.

cast off the shadows,
seek the hidden labyrinth
where words become whispers,
not found in tales of men.

the sky unfurls
sepia echoes of a time
not chronologically birthed,
but felt in heartbeat’s pulse.

an invisible compass
turns towards the perpetual,
a trumpet now calling
the chapters unwritten forlorn.