Beyond the palisades of reason, in a dimension of void-soaked murmurs,
where light bends into nightlike poetry, a lost soul wanders.
Here, the tea leaves dance like spirits divorced from their earthly concatenations,
tracing patterns of forgotten oaths and undeciphered runes.
The current sings lullabies of what-could-have-beens, tender and unbearable.
A tune, sprightly yet steeped in sorrow, hitches onto the branches of winds.
Who is the arbiter of these realms? The unseen usher guides with invisible hands.
Follow the embers—a captain to aurora's crest.
Gaze into the cup that never empties; its dreams spill over once more, stillness painted in undulating symphonies like echoes lost in the fabric of eternity.