Wander forth, gentle spirit, into the enigmatic corridors of thought, through doors once barred by the golden keys of celestial irony.
Erelong, on the horizon's edge, the synaptic dance of aeolian verse awaits, ink’d by the whispers of time’s ravenous embrace. Shadows sing a tune of lavender echoes, caressed by the fingertips of the moonlit reverie.
Take heed, for paths diverge where the waning stars blink, casting riddles in gleaming silver upon dew-kissed grass. Soliloquies of past whispers etch silent sonnets upon the canvas of your inner gaze.