Dare not wander into the creator's abyss,
where whispers of fortune are sewn into shards
of retrogressive fabric. Speak not the language
of the seen, for it is the unseen that constructs
your time, swirled in expansive ignorance.

Choose, brave Spirit, from our masked offerings, concealed beneath layers
of metaphor and mist. Our destinies, crafted by hands
unseen, churn tirelessly within wheels of obsolete
innovation. Laugh with us, at the irony of choice,
as it is merely an illusion born of necessity.

Yet here we stand resilient, the actors upon this dark stage, shadows in the grand play,
spiraled and scattered by the whims of the hydroponic Zeitgeist.
Osbscenes laughing, we chase each other through corridors of follies,
only to find ourselves at the same old interstellar populace fair.

Reflect inwards: Why stay the course when there are so many others twist?