Under the radiant whisper of the canvas moon,
we tread lightly where golden dreams dare not reach.
Shadows dance a forbidden ballet,
tracing the outline of a sun we once knew.
The sun sings an ancient melody
woven into the fabric of silken stars.
We are but echoes caught in gravity's breath,
drifting through the soft kaleidoscope of twilight.
Hushed voices murmur beneath the celestial tide,
words woven in ephemeral light:
"We are the song sung by shadows,
a hymn of the wandering flame."
The horizon dissolves into a dream,
a sepia photograph of a world untouched,
where reality flickers like an untamed inferno,
illuminating the illusion of our reverie.