Once, in the silent footsteps of digital dusk,
The minotaur grazes in fields of neon stardust,
Dreaming of synthetic gods made flesh,
And whispers of future sung from the void,
An oracle of labyrinthine circuitry.
Inked upon celestial scripts:
"To wander is to remember, to lose is to claim,
Ether-bound tales weave in the spiral lanes."
Echoes linger like moths to the luminary flames,
Guardians of riddles cloaked in autumn's mist.
Seek not the rooms nor their walls,
But the shadows that dance when light wanes.
Find the unseen paths drawn in whispers,
And follow, unfurling, the inked-spoken winds,
Sauntering through beyond wisp-like corridors.