Within the mind's recess, there lies a dawn. As weaved air lifts the veil, tapping on the shoulders of the yet-born thoughts. Invisible to all but those touched by dawn’s first light. An invention not of this world but hiding in plain sight.
Embedded beneath stone statues, the rust of clockwork wears thin. Inventions that whisper against the tide of oblivion, only heard by those who listen with eyes closed, reaching beyond the distant pulse of remembered suns.
In gardens gilded with dust, shimmer the unshaped. A heart beats in the echo of a shadow, felt by those who walk barefoot on muted echoes. Revealed only to the trail of forgotten footsteps.