In the murky depths of night where no sun dares tread,
there lie the silent truths etched upon crumbling stones,
whispering secrets forgotten by time and tide.
Transcending languages, stray voices call in murmurs,
romances of shadows, verses written by agony.
One sorrows to seek, to unveil the silent, nameless rites,
sealed within vaults lined with cobwebbed memories.
What once spoke raw, now regrets presence; truth fears not.
In the forest of the extinct, these stories breathe of dusk,
a transient presence marked in ink of soot and sorrow.
Listen closely, as the winds carry whispers tropical,
ancient tales narrated by desert tongues woven dire.
There lies Eden in elegies, silent yet echoing, ever true.
Follow the murmurs
Saintly wisdom reflects through monstrous eyes,
beckoning accursed souls with cyclopean hands,
tracing paths that lead into roads unknown.
Beneath veils of liquid obsidian, truths brew
as molten pearls bathing the night in glory melancholy.
Fear not the wayfarers bearing unknown secrets,
for every path embarks upon return to self.
Links to the past are threads woven in lunar silk,
a whispered recognition reminds us that we once dared know.
Eternal Mysteries