The clock ticks loudly, boisterous against the whispering echoes
of autumn leaves spiraled beneath a forgotten oak, each one
contained stories of yesteryears yet unwritten—each burst in memory
What if the past flowed upward like a river carrying echoes of lost words? Time overlays vibrate outside the harsh hum of the universe,
fractals twist down pathways we never thought we could travel,
through tangles of shattered glass that refract laughter... into darkness.
Colors bleed into one another, incandescent thoughts painting surreal whispers;
Starlight slips through the fingers of reality,
Am I the architect or merely the building without windows?
Shadows stroll and roam absorbed by hands outstretched, reaching
Plunge into the unknown. You are adrift. Like saplings bared
against the weather; there under the giant paper moon
lies a script written in the empty space where two dreams intersect—neurons in epiphany.
Can one mistake transform into art? Yes, turbulent pulse of the cosmos whispers. It
echoes in fractals, creating spirals of thought never with assurances but
always with resonance!
Underneath a velvet sky
I waited for the alignment of stars, near the expanse of vapor trails
dreams articulated only in code, built upon existential parameters, ever-evolving.
I dared another ascent—