The clock ticks in whims, rusted gears sighing lullabies,
echoes dancing through corridors of forgotten time.
Unseen truths seep through fabric stained with dreaming wishes,
falling drop by illuminating drop into infinite abyss.
A whisper, the sole witness, carries over and above.
"Veiled are the eyes," it says, slipping through warm cinders,
as shadows frolic down the pathways dressed in midnight’s garb.
Isn't it sweet, this world forgetting?
Yet, truth hums in secret, beneath crescendos of rust.
Listen now, to this being — Gears of empathy whir softly.
Peering through crystalline bubbles, watching a faraway dawn bloom.