In trance beside the clock, needles whisper secrets between ticks, "We are time," they murmur cautiously.and uncertainties unheard. Sighs traverse like unseen boats on fog, silent grey ripples burgeoning sound.
"Listen crowds dissolve through the mist, shadows borne upon whispering winds that weep for memory lost in dwindling hours."
Elusive stones rest on shallow graves, known only to the wise squirrels leaping through yarn-spun webbing, stitching lost dreams to archways in trees whose leaves howl in forgotten tongues.
Beneath the lattice of sky, an echo lingers, a question unasked: How does a silent scream warm stars until dawn loses its way?
Drift into the uncharted, follow the path where embers float in soft reverence, red sighs escaping the core with quietude divine.