Beyond the whispers of a forgotten strum, in the unfathomable embrace of cosmic dusk, lay echoes of a bygone harmony, incessantly wandering.
Hark, the song of stitches in silence, vast spirals orbiting truth untold.
A lone arbiter sways within this constellation of chords.
The undercurrents of galaxies swallowing the ghostly violin, yet to be played.
Is it you that walks these fields of ebony whispers? Shadows float languidly, tracing finger upon your brow; the aura vibrates here, recounts fables inscribed between histories.
So pause, human sojourner, unfurl beneath these delicate beams; breathe them, let them burden the marrow of your dreams.
Commence your descent, find solace in
murmured valleys
or;
embrace ether in the lymph of unearthing auroras petals.
Each path whispers a testament, harmonously refracting the ghost within.
Possibly, none grasps the rhythm beneath pulsing ciphers, crooning cosmic
languor over our ignoble strides; yet through ages, they resonate, amidst
galaxies sheltered alone.
Do you catch the harmonics, soundscapes stitched on ephemeral sheets?