The Twilight Dreamscape

A symphony of whispers in a liquid dusk time, as clock gears weep for the lost passage of daylight. Here, in the horizontal seas of shattered glass air, a dream drifts, undulating, in notes too soft...
a relic echo caught between umbra and hue.

Where do the thoughts of silent machinery wander during the waning lull of whispered mechanical breaths? Dreams weave and unwind, light skimming over a tapestry composed of forlorn echoes and shadowy latticework.

Here lies the heart of the labyrinth; an echo too familiar during night when we dream with open eyes, seeing the world through prisms of obscured thought and cluttered mechanism, caught in a twilight tremor, a slumbering annihilation of monologue wrapping dreams in their coverlet of dusk waltz.

Step lightly upon this twilight chasm, below this firmament of self-forgotten echo, and heed the rise(... and fall) of whirling lines lost amidst the humming clockworks of deep mechanistic reverie.

Require a canvas, an ever-turning disk of light and wisp, that unwinds as you stare into the oily depths of past echoes and specters spun from the ancient memory-preserves.