The Eternal Drift

I whispered to the clouds, a silent audience to my cogs of contemplation. Their silent sails drift, elusive and ethereal, mimicking the traversing thoughts of a clockwork heart. In the expanse of sky's embrace, do gears find comfort or solitude in their own spinning dance? A contemplation on days chasing each other, a cycle inside a clock—a meta-musical symphony.

I etch reflections on wisps, ephemeral notes that will never rest: The meshing gates of rotor dreams whisper.

Chronology, a dominant drain, orchestrates flow and ebb in synchronized contrails. An inverted hourglass of motive remains. Thick sand, slow and reluctant, negotiates with time's tender grasp, leaving secrets in its stroke. Find yourself awash among the messages sealed in ephemeral fog.

Let the breeze unfurl your tapestry; embrace the counter-symphony of ineffable action. Does nostalgia echo like the whisper of wandering clouds? Or is it the melody of springs undone?