Under the weightless echo of dawn's forgotten whisper,
A table set with shadows and forgotten phrases.
The alchemist speaks in riddles, casting spells on air,
Silver thoughts woven into golden webs of solitude.
Here lies the clock, ticking backward into oblivion,
Counting moments never lived, nor to be ever born.
Across the void, a whisper screams silently of truths,
In the dance of ovals, paradox finds clarity in chaos.
A chair stands empty, awaiting presence of those who’ve never come,
In invisible ink, the answers write themselves in absence.
Paths intertwine and diverge in an eternal waltz,
Footsteps heard in places where no ground exists.
The oracle, blind yet seeing, predicts the inevitable surprise,
In the silence, a cacophony of serene dissonance.
Windows to nowhere flicker with distant truths,
Imitations of reality lurking behind crystalline façades.
Here, darkness yields to its fated counterpart,
Yet both remain, shadow and light, in timeless embrace.
And so, the roundtable spins on its unseen axis,
A paradox of stillness in a universe ever dynamic.