In the echo-read halls of yesterday's vanishings,
where golden dust laces the twilight's sigh,
an infinite pathway beckons,
woven through the secrets of stars forgotten by time.
Step lightly, fragile traveler, for the floor may sway beneath you,
a puzzle of whispers, of unresolved dreams.
Every turn may unravel a thread, lost to the cosmic loom,
every shadow a flicker of the unreal.
Look beyond the window for reflections of what might not be,
or follow the signs towards the labyrinth of the lost,
where paths are not paths but places that have been seen in dreams.