o l d T e c h . c l i c k

A poem.

In the still calm of twilight, I wove a charm,
From the invisible threads that eyes seeking the norm cannot see,
In spaces where unseen whispers dwell,
I carved the shadow's shape, a new form.

No brush touched this blank and vast canvas,
No chisels have shaped this silent, shifting clay,
Yet from nothing, form and function were cast,
An obscure art, arisen to greet the day.

In secret syntax, symbols engraved in light,
A labyrinth of thoughts in twilight’s shade,
Where Being's echo murmured out of sight,
An artifact of dreams and daylight made.

A silent symphony of lines unseen,
Each stroke a whisper, each array a song,
A secondhand account, a coded dream,
Where fleeting moments and Forever throng.

No title crowns this work, no frame confines,
Its essence drifts beyond the knowing gaze,
A mystery in secondhand designs,
An art conceived in twilight’s shifting maze.

Thus, in this quiet, coded world it stands,
A testament to forms we understand,
A web of whispers, by unseen hands woven,
An echo of a dream in twilight's land.