Ephemeral supplications, etched in twilight.
Cosmic echoes ripple through the aether,
weaving hymns of forgotten tongues.

Once, they sang amidst the nebulous dusk,
a resonance of silence, pregnant with stars.
Now, only whispers,
only phantoms, linger in the gossamer fold.

Carved by the hands of unimagined dreamers,
the fabric of space absorbs their antiquity.
Listen closely, beneath the gravity's lull,
for there, the spectral chord vibrates in solitude.

Woven amidst the astral tapestry,
lies a truth, arcane and fleeting.
What is seen is but a mirror,
to what is whispered among the void's own heart.