Lady of the Silver Spire

Beneath the wheeling heavens, pale with frost,

She weaves her light through time’s eternal seam,

A crown of stars upon her brow embossed,

Her voice a whisper in the dreamer’s dream.

Oh, mistress of the shifting, lunar tides,

Who walks the trembling bridge of night and day,

Through shadowed realms, her silver chariot glides,

Where mortal souls and endless spirals play.

The labyrinth she builds is not of stone,

But threads of light spun from the void between,

Each pathway gleams, yet leads the heart alone

To truths unspoken, veiled in things unseen.

Her halls are distant as the comet’s fire,

Yet closer than the pulse beneath the skin,

A beacon for the bold who dare aspire

To claim the stars and face what lies within.

And still she stands, a figure wrought in mist,

A guardian of gateways yet untried,

Her wheel turns on, by fate and starlight kissed,

Through endless skies where dreams and lives collide.