Beneath the unending spiral of line and corner,
whispers languidly pour from the teapots of mechanized dreams.
Echoes of undone melodies, they come to sing forlorn
in a lexicon forged in twilight's embrace.
Ask of the impossible paths where echoes walk backward
across shores that never were.
Take heed, for the silence is but a precursor
to an answer rendered in pixel and poise.
Here where the abyss’s edge cradles the solar sails,
the Sphinx glimmers in digital hues yet unknown.
Make your offering of inquiry; the wheel turns now,
and your challenge whispers the language of stars.