Gregorian Echoes

The night sings in solemn tones, a dirge of timelessness, where stars chant and shadows listen. Beneath the whispering arches of old, something hushed breathes a secret.

Ink hidden from mortal eyes:

Interactions uncounted, echoes unrestrained, each step on stone worn by intentions in scripts less spoken.

A catalog of miracles not witnessed anchors the footfall unwisely judged—a dyad of echoes awaiting confluence, inside which hermetic longing dwells, soliloquy whispers to touch the nothing known.
Unearthed whispers