In the shadows of starlight, where the ticking of the universe is heard, whispers of clocks echo. Each tick a memory, each tock a forgotten wish.
The breaking dawn, a silent scream, bending light through prism dreams. Infinity notes it down, scribes fontanelle scars on fleshy constellations.
Every skimming comet leaves trails like the last breath of ancient poets. Footnotes in the cosmic ledger, marginalia to the divine unwritten.
Above, the carousel of wandering stars, beneath it, the clockwork ground. The dance of pendulums disturbs sleeping souls, winding dreams around clockfaces.
The astral winds, they whisper truths no tongue can utter, but every heartbeat knows. Echoes forged in the fires of forgotten time.