In the murmurs of twilight, where time unravels in whispers,
we find the lost yarn of fables and futures unwound.
Beneath the crooked eaves of Eternity, there lie spectacles forgotten,
delicate as echoes, bookending voids unspoken.
Phantoms dance,
tracing arcs through the frosted canvas of brisk night air,
their melodies stitched in nebulous threads across realms.
Here, reality strokes the celestial satin, then pauses between beats,
like the brief sigh of dawn held at the brushed horizon's edge.
And in this stillness, an astral figure whispers secrets,
austere and alabaster truths swirling in spectral cascades.
Yet all that answers is the silent hum of time fractured.
Whispered lights adorn
the hidden symphony lurking behind senses unkept.
Wandering 'tween the tethered galaxies, wanderers witness
a canvas neither dark nor bright; a dome spun of brittle possibilities.
They clutch these transitory spectacles of inky depth
as they ride the curling loop of forgotten fates and dances.
And still the night breathes through open seamed skies.
Crimson dreams linger,
entangled with the frost of stars kept in slumber.