Should wisdom be painted in shades of gray? In the halls of illusion, answers whisper like shadows.
Opaque reflections in the puddle of time suggest:
"A clock without hands is seldom late, yet never early."
And the walls reply, follow the echoes, or open more doors.
The ugliest truths dance in the light of ignorance, wearing crowns of thorns and smiles made of rust.
Listen closer: "The moon eats dreams for breakfast, whilst the stars sip reality through silver straws."
Riddles wrapped in enigmas beg "Why?" and answer with a profound silence.