Fractured beams whisper soft symphonies, yearning howl of the cosmos interwoven with gossamer threads, falling echoes spiraling, painting the twilight of obscurity.
Burniture twirls on sap labeled 'blue skies'; there faith rests gradients as dreams sift through dilation– six moons, woven to lighthouses yet unseen.
To gaze afield, one finds the glimmer of forgotten constellations calling 'think of zephyrs dancing once more in rapture', shores of cosmic consciousness amidst grainy allowances.
Proceed not without movement, some strand, some web… Dawn emerges in dismal white, crawling— memento mori under epiphany's gaze, latticework suspended as we twitch in eternal dawn-like flesh.
We are but a collection of whispers entangled, bringing forth the nectar of ethereal almonds grown in-between hope and reminiscent dusk.
Seek out voices lost under the heat of sanguine stars, for they whisper hidden truths known not to sturdy hearts.