The whisper of hinges rustles between lines,
an echo murmurs like forgotten rhymes.
Where do the doors lead but where they've always wished,
yearning for stories untold, unstitched.

So you stand, poised at the entry, pondering,
corridors beckon, invitation-laden,
reflections flicker, deceit in their vowels,
thresholds discerning, morse in twilight prowls.

Open, never opened - what truth do they carry,
shifting shadows of phantoms that tarry.
Dance in reverse - entropy lent its grace,
secrets kept tight, promises unlace.