I held a dream within my hands, with wires, notes, and light,
Each echo traced a hope I chased through every sleepless night.
But one small slip—a shattered sound—my heart began to race,
A spill of fate upon the floor, fear written on my face.
"Watson, come here!" I cried aloud, not knowing what I’d done,
My voice had traveled through the wires, the message clearly won.
A world once locked in silent rooms now heard a distant friend—
And from a spill, a spark was born that time could not unbend.
What if mistakes are guiding stars
That lead us to the skies?
A broken beaker, trembling hands,
Still hold a grand surprise.
The path unknown can open wide
With wonder in disguise.
So let the tales of stumbled steps ring out for all to hear,
For even fear, when mixed with hope, can make the future clear.
I spilled a chance, but found a voice that travels through the day—
And sometimes fate begins its work in the most curious way.