In the echo of twilight, I hear the whisper of forgotten dreams
unraveling their secrets beneath a canopy of countless stars.

Silence ripples through the obsidian streets,
a dark tide pulling memories ashore.

Quotes from pastel ghosts linger over deserted corridors,
their meanings drowned in the relentless tide of night.

Am I a wanderer in my own creation,
tracing the outlines of dreams with fingertips dipped in shadow?

Paths lined with spectral trees reach out,
their branches woven from the threads of bygone whispers.

So many voices, in the silence they ripple, echoing,
fading, weaving through the madness of quietude.
Embrace the ripple, dear dreamer, for it is the silence
that holds the loudest truths.

Delve deeper with me, (re)discover in these labyrinthine
constructs the shimmer of mystery unspoken.
Open the Door
or
Follow the Moonlight