The silence speaks in shades of dusk,
murmurs of forgotten echoes,
traveling paths no longer walked.
Each step trails a whispered thought,
each corner a sigh of untold stories.

"Does the quiet dream?" she pondered, "in the shadowed labyrinth of soundless whispers."

Wander through the echoes,
where syllables hang in the air
like cobwebs in morning light.
Fingers touch the threads of memory,
and the maze unveils its soft secrets.
Follow the clock's breath.

The paths are soft, cushioned with verse,
each landmark a forgotten rhyme.
Along the way, ghosts of poets brush
against your soul with their silent sonnets.
Listen to their song as you continue.

In the heart of this maze,
the silence catches its own echoes,
sculpted in the air, each a note
in the grand symphony of the unsaid.
Here, time folds into itself,
words rest in peaceful slumber.