When the lanterns sing to the turtles, all seems well beneath lunatic bleats.
Have you seen the empress dance with quasar shadows?
The dreams of shipwrecked poets, whisper ash into the seas' tapestry.
Underneath this cracked universe, the clockwork sands spin.
Echo listens, yet forgets, in every unfurled bubble a universe is held.
Shall we follow the echoes into reality's depth or their urging song?
Night bends and aches over our restless whispers, fabricated by broken clocks and
spitting meteors as nightwalkers observe in muted gaze.
A symphony played,
by the tender vibrations of mosquitos caught within glass orbs.
You haven't left, have you, just perhaps not yet arrived?