TIME IS ENDLESS

Time is a myth the stars ignore,

a trick the sun forgot to play.

In lands beyond the edge of thought,

the clocks dissolve and drift away.

Here, no chimes, no hours to keep—

just the hush of skies that never sleep.

Beneath a moon that breathes in gold,

where constellations shift like ink,

a nameless child with silver eyes

stands silent on a canyon’s brink.

She wears no shoes. She needs no name.

She’s walked through fire, frost, and flame.

The sands beneath her feet are glass,

echoes of aeons burned and passed.

Each grain remembers what was dreamed—

a thought, a fear, a future schemed.

She steps, and stories rise in wake,

worlds unfold with every shake.

I. The Forest of Forgotten Kings

First came trees with crowns of light,

roots deep in tombs of endless night.

Leaves whispered in forgotten tongues,

echoes of tyrants, songs unsung.

A deer with antlers made of quartz

bowed its head, then tore apart—

splitting open like a gate,

revealing roads the stars create.

She walked them all: the lost, the long,

where every breath becomes a song.

She met a knight who fought his fate,

dueling shadows born too late.

He bled regrets from ancient years,

sword polished by his frozen tears.

He knelt and whispered, “Make me free.”

She touched his brow. So ceased his plea.

II. The Market of the Mindless Moon

Then rose a city built on air,

suspended in a sky of glare.

Balloons as beasts. Clouds shaped like hands.

Vendors sold time in silver strands.

A woman traded years for youth,

a beggar dealt in bottled truth.

A jester laughed until he died—

his echo kept the winds supplied.

The child moved on. Her steps rewrote

the ground behind her into thought.

She passed a mirror where she saw

a thousand versions of her flaw:

warrior, thief, a weeping queen,

a hermit in a machine’s dream.

She smiled at all, then turned away.

No version held the right to stay.

III. The Shore That Holds No Sea

At last she reached a shoreless tide—

waves that licked the air and lied.

No ocean swelled, yet gulls still screamed,

as if the sea remained unseen.

There, an hourglass the size of sky

stood sideways, drifting slowly by.

Its sands defied both fall and climb—

refusing gravity. Defying time.

She climbed it like a spiral stair,

each grain a world, suspended there.

In one: a prince with clocks for eyes,

who wept each time a minute dies.

In two: a girl who danced through flame

to find her father’s stolen name.

In three: a writer at the brink,

inking fate with haunted ink.

Each story stopped when she stepped in—

her presence turned the loss to win.

IV. The Hall Where Nothing Ends

Finally, she reached the hall

where dreams hang frozen on the wall.

No doors. No roof. No floor below.

Just endless now, in endless flow.

Each moment here refused to fade.

Each future here was half-replayed.

A god with cracked and hollow face

whispered, “Child, this is the place.

You walked through all, you bore the sum.

Now speak: what will you become?”

She plucked a star from the ceiling’s bend

and said, “There is no end to end.

No shape to take. No path to bend.

I do not break. I do not mend.”

She shattered it against the air.

It bloomed into a cosmic snare.

The hall collapsed into a breath—

no longer ruled by time or death.

V. The Beginning That Begins Again

Back at the canyon. Same still stare.

But now the sky has braided hair.

Mountains hum in lower chords.

The rivers whisper ancient words.

She is still the girl, but more—

a myth, a map, a mirrored door.

She walks again, but not alone.

The steps she left have grown their own.

Behind her trails a spiral song

that gathers those who don’t belong.

They come: the lost, the bold, the bent.

The ones with stories never spent.

And all together, they ignite

the worlds that hide beyond the night.

Time is endless. Fantasy is breath.

We are the children that conquered death.

We are the silence between each chime.

We are the rhythm beyond all time.