The phantoms of yesteryears etch tales upon this fabric. Translunar whispers unravel at dusk, drawing the veil of the cryptic aeon.
Ensnared in archives where no hand dare scribe,
they linger as translucence of dreams.
Beyond the panoply versed in echoes, they dance beneath the suns of a horizon unborn.
Voyagers of the starlit firmament,
beacons unto shadows and musings.
Wander forth, as wisdom's privilege, albeit unfound, remains the truest parchment.