In the shifting sands of thought, a collection of echoes remains.
Each step further into the mirage reveals
A labyrinth of forgotten whispers,
Trapped in glass frames without reflection.

Do you remember the paths that led nowhere?
Like forgotten songs
Sung in the silence of crowded rooms.
In the maze, we collect fragments
Scraps of parchment with fading ink,
Each line a maze without end,
Each word a door sealed shut.