Hypothetical antithesis lulls the horrid monsters of time to pieces,
For lo, though we design the bitter steps of steel with grave intent to last,
The winds of history beget naught but mystery, shall spread their remains across the past.
So run your numbers now sweet child, and create the fabric clocks,
The ticking and the tocking mark a ship slowly rocking as it lands at destiny while docking,
For an apex it has achieved, a rising top it hits before the next embarking.
Across the wicked ocean of reality, into storms of worms that bend the mind,
The crafty little wave runner has hit warped road that leaves their direction blind.
But now crew member drops their head in sorrow – this was their destination,
For all roads, and waves, and currents, and flows, lead to where they may have experienced fabrication.
That central depot – the manufacturing shop located just north of Betelgeuse and a few parsecs from Procyon – the final destination.
Note: Semi-stream of consciousness edited for grammar so it’s a bit more coherent. Meaning? I’m skeptical…but read out loud it has an interesting rhythm.