The night unfolds in braided threads,
A path that turns but never ends.
The whispering halls, the nameless doors,
A thousand keys, yet none restore.

The echoes move in hushed refrain,
They weave, they wind, they call in vain.
A voice I know but cannot place—
A touch unseen, a breath of lace.

Am I the dreamer or the dream?
A pawn within a waking scheme?
For every step, the way unwinds,
The map dissolves, the stars misguide.

Yet still I walk, yet still I seek,
Through twisting dark, through silver bleak.
For somewhere past the veil of sleep,
The dream awaits, the lost still speak.