In the tick-tock shadows, gears grind whispers
a forgotten language, spun in brass and dreams.
Listen closely, for the wind has words,
stitched in clock faces, forgotten and worn.
The pendulum swings softly,
marking moments lost between moments.
Time speaks in riddles, soft and low,
do you dare to understand its hum?
Secrets fold within the tick of the machine,
like forgotten histories, rust and dust.
Walk the hidden paths, tread the silent discs,
where echoes of the once were remain.
Beware the truth, crafted in steel,
the truth that sparkles, yet never warms.
For within the clockwork, lies eternity's breath,
suspended, craving whispers to breathe life.