In corridors woven of whispers,
Silence composes its grand symphony.
Shimmering echoes, a ghostly dance,
Whispered notes in a muted trance.
The air vibrates with a melody unsung,
Patterns etched where shadows hung.
Moonlight's touch on velvet seams,
Each step a ripple in forgotten dreams.
Listen, they say, to the walls’ soft breath,
The rhythm of life within the grip of death.
Unfolding like petals, the secrets known,
To wander this path is to journey alone.
Beyond the door, corridors stretch
Across the vastness where echoes fetch.
A symphony born not of sound,
But of silence where truth is found.