Profound whispers weave through twisted corridors,
echoing a symphony in the shadows of forgotten dreams,
where the moonlight plays a solitary refrain,
and every step dances with echoes of yesteryears.
You venture deeper, and then stumble upon,
a kaleidoscope of thoughts in spectral hues,
painting stories on walls only the stars can see.

In the center, where paths meet in harmonies strange,
there lies an inscription left by wandering poets,
crystalline in the chill of twilight's embrace,
read only when the mind is free to soar,
like soft whispers across time's flowing stream.