In the cavernous whispers of the forgotten wind, a voice beckons you
yet remains unheard. Follow the shadow of your own reflection.
The path twists like a serpent in sleep, dreams woven into its scales.
To descend is to rise, to grasp the invisible letters that spell the truth
in the language of the echoes. Listen, and the silent labyrinth reveals itself.
A door swings open upon the thought of a dream, yet never ajar;
reach through the fabric of an unnamed reality.
Understanding, like the tide, laps at the shores of comprehension.
springeth |
into the halls |
whispers
Feel the weight of your breath echoing in the void, the pure essence
of existence distilled into each thought. The climb downwards illuminates
the unseen stars, constellations written in the dance of shadows.