The clock of existence, a rusty bell tolling,
in the cathedral of stars, where echoes gather.
Past and present dance in a pirouette,
oblivious to the silence, unaware of the ever.
Did you hear the nebula's whisper?
It spoke of tomorrow's yesterdays,
threading tales in cosmic looms
where spacetime weaves its absurd tapestries.
A rabbit, a shaman, and a teapot crossed skies,
brewed galaxies in porcelain cups,
spooned chaos theory into symphonic order,
all while the universe hummed a forgotten rhyme.
Stars blink like lost moths,
trailing light in the void of night,
chasing whispers across the dusty corridors
of eternal, unyielding, splendid cosmic awe.
Join me in this dance,
where every step is a comet, every breath a quasar.
Or wander through the vortex,
where language is liquid, and meaning melts into the stars.