In the depths of checker-patterned night,
Where the walls breathe tales of forgotten stars,
I wandered, footfall echoed—a broken melody,
Into corners wrapped in shadow's silken embrace.
"Listen, the corridor murmurs secrets," croaked the wind.
Through the golden spiral of whispered time,
I found a door sewn shut with memories —
Knotted like vine, twisted, timeless.
And the voice, oh the voice, it sang:
"Madness is a riverflow in the desert's gut."
Each step unbinds the tethered sky,
Chimes ringing in circles, dissolving
Into sandy hourglasses of thought,
Where echoes form the language of stones.
"Are you listening," the shadows conspire, "or are you simply wandering?"
Beyond the next turn lies the portal's breath,
A kaleidoscope of all the corners unseen,
In the labyrinth. In the heart. In the mystery.
Hold fast to the echoes of lunatic yonder,
For each whisper is a universe drawn in chalk:
Open the door of creaking night.
And when the sun pours her gentle fury,
Like liquid gold upon the vacant maze,
I will find my way back—not alone,
For the whispering walls shall guide
My restless soul homeward,
To the caverns of silent adoration.