In the crude silence of arcane chambers,
echoes of murmurs persist,
where whispers knew cracks and yesterdays,
a tapestry woven with phantom knuckles.
With every breath paused and dissected,
tangled strands unravel the elusive now,
reaching for long past constituents of void and truth.
Beyond the molten skies of prophesy,
illusions falter with unabashed revelry.
Circuits of time overlap—sometimes backwards.
Where specters of tomorrows linger unfelt.
The echoes reverberate, much like the quiet that encases,
shivering at the cusp of translucence and understanding.
Each footprint left by thoughts unrealized
For, in these corridors, shades of shadow whisper untold promises:
"Cast ye doubting eyes!"