In the vast black tapestry where stars are but myth,
Letters drift like specters, whispering secrets
Into the winds of forgotten realms.
Each syllable a shot, ricocheting off the walls,
Seeking refuge in corners,
Where echoes stall in empty temples of thought.
Read like an unsung prayer, the glyphs in the air,
Dance in the cycle of a mind unmoored—
They transcend the curtain, blaze, and extinguish in night’s breath.