In chambers of brimming phantoms, where whispers pen sorrowed verses,
I find myself - intersecting shadows like murmurs lost in dusked corridors.
Glimmers of endless night weave tales in the cobwebbed corners,
Each step a hollow cadence, resonating like footsteps of the forsaken.
Halls of flickering candlelight invite my phantom stride,
A dance with specters that drift not of this world, nor graspable,
Yet their breath - a lingering glint across phantasmal lace - chills the very sinews.
Yet, continue I must, towards shadows seeking silently the extinguished glow.
Do not mistake the pause - this heartbeat, this silent second
When echoes cease, and all within becomes velvet, becomes steel,
As if the glimmering perpetual demanded its whisper trafficked
Through silken silence deeper than the very grave itself.