The Echo of Silenced Clocks

Within each tick, a universe arranges itself, unraveling in symmetry
until – **the whisper breaks**, cascades like sugar on invisible bridges.
Do leaves recall their origins, or are they merely actors in seasons' folly?

The moon, tenderly curious, peers into solitude
where dreams dissolve into recipes for **dusk’s dessert**.
Absurd truths etched in the echoes of **disappearing eclairs**:
What if flavor composed our prayers?

Do patterns of decay form a realization,
or merely a shadow of spectacles discounted on burnt hills?
The unfurling green beneath pastels weeping echoes
serves as testimony to the absurdity of asking **why**.

Seek not the tame, but the wild portal to unfoldings unseen,
where vacant expressions adorn fleeting memories in rhyme with puzzle pieces reshaping
the horizon’s **etchings** on cat's abrupt symphonies.