Upon the midnight metal ship sailing for unseen shores,
you will hear the faint knuckles of a clock striking twice.
Hidden beneath the rust and tears of memory, the echoes reverberate.
Alien whispers punch through the fog of reality, their messages
hidden in the cogs of a distant foghorn crying out for home.
Time does not unravel; it loops, spirals,
yawns open like clocks stripped of purpose,
delicate gears moaning in ironic lullabies
as they cascade into the abyss of forgotten seconds.
Let the rhythm of those dreams marinate in silence
as you guide them into words, winding how they remember
the taste of moments lost to the whispering sea.