In the twilight where echoes take flight,
a brush of starlight against velvet sky,
shadows dance—phantom footprints in the night,
a calling from the cosmos, a gentle sigh.
The harmony of spheres, unbound, unseen,
woven in whispers, a melody serene.
Listen closely to the silent song,
it hums in the heart where we belong.
The nightingale's forgotten tune,
a lullaby beneath a spectral moon,
carries the weight of worlds adrift,
a symphony caught in the cosmic rift.
Do you hear the harmony it seeks,
in the breath of silence when the world speaks?
Dive into the unheard, the unseen waves,
our souls are the vessels, the echoes—the graves.