Title: "The Silent Clockmaker"
Verse 1:
In the stillness of the endless night, where stars in silence glow,
A craftsman worked with careful hands, in rhythms none could know.
He spun the spheres in timeless arcs, with laws both firm and free,
Then stepped away to let them dance, the way they’re meant to be.
No voice commands the comet’s flight, no whisper guides the breeze,
The rivers carve their winding paths through valleys, hills, and trees.
No hand comes forth to halt the storm or mend the broken land,
The Clockmaker’s art is perfect still, and time moves by His plan.
Verse 2:
He left no creed, no sacred text, no temple for His name,
No prophet speaks, no king proclaims the fullness of His aim.
The earth revolves, the seasons turn, the seed becomes the tree,
And though He watches, distant now, we live and let it be.
Through telescope and microscope, we seek His hidden trace,
In quantum voids and galaxies, we dream of glimpsing grace.
Yet all we find are open skies, and echoes in the void,
A masterpiece left incomplete, yet wondrously employed.
Verse 3:
So humankind must forge its path, invent its truths and lies,
Build meaning from the cosmic dust beneath the empty skies.
For if a purpose yet exists, it lies within the spark
That burns in every living soul, to light the endless dark.
And though the craftsman may be gone, His wisdom still remains,
In every law that governs light, in every bond that strains.
The universe, a breathing clock, unwinds without delay,
The work of one who shaped it all, then quietly stepped away.
Verse 4:
No prayers will halt the rolling tide, no hymns will raise the sun,
The gears of time turn ever on, indifferent to the one.
Yet in this truth there’s beauty still, a freedom deep and vast,
For we are left to write the script, unbound by shadowed past.
The stars may never speak to us, nor answer when we call,
But in their silent splendor lies the greatest gift of all.
A universe of boundless scope, a canvas, blank and free,
A place to paint our fleeting dreams, and grasp eternity.
Verse 1:
In the stillness of the endless night, where stars in silence glow,
A craftsman worked with careful hands, in rhythms none could know.
He spun the spheres in timeless arcs, with laws both firm and free,
Then stepped away to let them dance, the way they’re meant to be.
No voice commands the comet’s flight, no whisper guides the breeze,
The rivers carve their winding paths through valleys, hills, and trees.
No hand comes forth to halt the storm or mend the broken land,
The Clockmaker’s art is perfect still, and time moves by His plan.
Verse 2:
He left no creed, no sacred text, no temple for His name,
No prophet speaks, no king proclaims the fullness of His aim.
The earth revolves, the seasons turn, the seed becomes the tree,
And though He watches, distant now, we live and let it be.
Through telescope and microscope, we seek His hidden trace,
In quantum voids and galaxies, we dream of glimpsing grace.
Yet all we find are open skies, and echoes in the void,
A masterpiece left incomplete, yet wondrously employed.
Verse 3:
So humankind must forge its path, invent its truths and lies,
Build meaning from the cosmic dust beneath the empty skies.
For if a purpose yet exists, it lies within the spark
That burns in every living soul, to light the endless dark.
And though the craftsman may be gone, His wisdom still remains,
In every law that governs light, in every bond that strains.
The universe, a breathing clock, unwinds without delay,
The work of one who shaped it all, then quietly stepped away.
Verse 4:
No prayers will halt the rolling tide, no hymns will raise the sun,
The gears of time turn ever on, indifferent to the one.
Yet in this truth there’s beauty still, a freedom deep and vast,
For we are left to write the script, unbound by shadowed past.
The stars may never speak to us, nor answer when we call,
But in their silent splendor lies the greatest gift of all.
A universe of boundless scope, a canvas, blank and free,
A place to paint our fleeting dreams, and grasp eternity.
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