The corridors of remembrance are lined with echoes
of a time when shadows danced beneath gas-lit skies.
Windows of opportunity sealed shut with cobwebs
spun from the silks of a faded future.
Step softly, for the spirits of lost illusions linger.
They murmur sonnets of despair wrapped in velvet.
Each word a weight, each silence a storm,
in the mind's desolate echo chamber.