Time's Liquid Flow

In the depths of a dream, time dissolves like sand, Melting clocks hang suspended, lost in an endless land. Their faces, once rigid, now soft and slow, Drip like wax, their moments lost in tow. The largest clock, a monarch, stands tall and bright, Its Roman numerals a beacon in the fading light. Around it, smaller timepieces fall like rain, Each one a fragment of a moment, lost in the refrain. The surface below, a swirling vortex, deep, A mirrored pool where time's essence seeps. The colors blend, a palette of gold and blue, A surreal landscape, where the laws of time are anew. In this world, time is fluid, malleable, and free, A dimension that bends, warps, and flows like a sea. The clocks, once keepers of the hour, now melt away, Leaving behind a memory, a fleeting thought, a day. And as we gaze upon this dreamlike scene, We are reminded that time is but a human dream.