Disasters emerge as transient whispers in dreaming skies. Repeat the incantation, lest the shadows befalls once again. In every whispered iteration, a portal opens, yet we stand still in an empty threshold.
Consider the echoes of yesteryears flooding vacant fields. Was there ever a beginning before the ending? The cycle weaves itself, twilight in both openings and closings.
Do not fear, for those who repeat the chant evoke only resonations of unmade paths, fading ripples upon reflection pools. The mirror holds many prisms, most never acknowledged by those it reflects.
In the cold caress of night, rest assured; though torment be abstract, the planet spins soft lullabies to recover the peace once torn asunder. Rise and remember, then let slip away.