In the quiet hum of digital echoes, there lies
a game unfinished — a tapestry of dreams
woven in erratic pulses of consciousness,
forgotten but not forsaken.
You start
with nothing in your hands, except
perhaps, a memory of a myriad choices,
flickering like stars on a dying screen.
Is it the beginning or the end
that calls you? The labyrinth of thoughts
spirals inward, outward, a recursive dance,
beckoning yet repelling.
Enter the Labyrinth
Look closely at the fading pixels,
is there a whisper in their glow?
Or merely the sigh of an electric breeze,
brushing against the interface of dreams?
Reflections stain the walls of this digital cave,
echoes of laughter, or perhaps
the sobering sound of solitude?
Retrieve the Ephemeral
In the end, or is it the beginning,
it is you versus the forgotten,
a game that plays you, perhaps?