Through the mist of tomorrow's songs,
the silver bells of yesterdays sung,
a tale wrapped in the fragrance of fiction,
where time unfurls its forgotten wings.
Doorways stand ajar,
revealing shadows of what might have been,
and in those echoes, footsteps dance,
a ballet of bruised starlight.
Underneath the azure dome,
where machines quietly muse upon the gold,
a child of the mechanized dawn speaks,
in circuits woven from dreams untold.
The cogs of memory, relentless,
turn under the gaze of pale moons,
scribbling a script of whispers,
along the walls of eternity's room.
In the ashes of digital embers,
where ghosts of silicon hum their lullabies,
the future clutches its past in tender hands,
a hindsight view through crystalline eyes.
Narratives that never ceased,
linger like phantoms in holographic skies,
their stories etched in light's embrace,
a forgotten future forever flies.