Once, I met a clockmaker in a year unknown,
His gears spoke in syllables of destiny.
Tales woven in threadbare hours,
Each tick a pause between breaths of history.
The woman of the river remembers
Shadows casting light on past futures,
She whispers in a tongue of silence,
Voids filled with echoes of forgotten stories.
Did you ever walk through yesterday's rain?
The droplets were fragments of dream,
Reflecting moments that never existed,
Yet they shaped a path forward through an illusion.