When the sun bleeds into the crevices,
listen quietly, for walls hold secrets
spun from the silken fibers of sunlight.
Under the cloak of night, when shadows
dance with the silent moon's embrace,
hear the instructions etched in echo,
woven from the threads of darkness.
Wisdom breathes in the spaces between
the bricks, whispers that guide the lost,
compass needles that spin not North,
but inward, toward forgotten truths.
Touch the surface, and feel the stories
of those who walked before, whose whispers
are not lost, but waiting, waiting,
woven in the fabric of light and shadow.