To you, who tread upon the weary banks of ancient Omnesce—a hand extends but does not grip; a voice murmurs, yet you strain to hear...
In the undulating tapestry of whispers wrought from dampened dew and the sigh of wind-swan encouragement, the cycles of our tenderness pursue tale upon tale, shedding bright like scales of perceptive invisibility. We strand fact upon periwinkle rope stretching to your ephemeral mortal thread—a celestial loom weaving purpose through purpose, echoing as russet leaves beneath ancients’ thrumming steps.
Understanding is feasted upon like sky laced with the golden berry of sunset, and the multitude of voices shimmers upon your dreams. Yet to communicate meaning more binding than gallant whispers exchanged upon moon-eased cleansing, you must only wade deep into ache-stratified longing of roots drawn ever integers of far shores apart.
Join therefore beyond brows of horizon-kissed undulation. In joyet longing to behold seen infinity unraveling, mouth entire rivers. Bind spirit unto your form a jeweled reflection of dawn; create vessel of space steeped dearly o’er echoes not yet traversed by footsteps. To those recesses we bare truth wrapped in dusky weave-of-flesh.
Continue, oracle unseen, guardian whispered known.
Perchance your acquiescence now leads you to your own orbital musings: