Deafened by the praise in my reflection, I stand upon the precipice of the void, staring into a divine magnificence that consumes the essence of my being, revealing my inconsequential nature as a speck upon a cosmic cloud.
In the mist of silence, I faintly hear the motif of my soul dancing in the shadow of the moonlight, notes free of fear, dreamily plucked on Morpheus’ lyre, that momentarily fade the siren’s lure, for I sing upon a rose petal circling the sun.