When the shadows speak and the moon sinks low,
there lie the pathways of whispered dreams,
branches of thoughts unseen, surreal, disconnected.
An echo fades, not in space but through time,
gathering dust in forgotten halls.
Here, the echoes are concrete, yet intangible,
mapping a maze with no physical borders yet built
by desires barely acknowledged under dim stars.
In the labyrinth, the inner self hums—
an echo of echoes, waiting for the listener,
as infinite as it is finite.