Between the folds of silence,
between the whispers ontological,
weave the rumblings of forgotten stars,
threading light into patterns raw and ethereal.
Once, it was spoken by the winds
that dreams flutter in the dusk,
echoing softly through this woven space,
where every thought is a step in twilight’s dance.
The echoes hum a silent song,
a melody dripping with time's essence,
as shadows ply their potent craft,
parting mists shy and opulent.
Here, upon the nebulous shores of reason,
wade the ripples of what was, and what might be,
crystalline in nature,
haunting in purity, embodied in echo.