Cathedrals Whisper

In the heart of stone, where shadows bend
whispers cradle secrets long obscured.
Amber thoughts hang, suspended like dew,
caught in the web of ancient breaths.

The arches groan under the weight of murmurs,
as if confessing sins to the silence itself.
Stained glass eyes blink
through veils of dust, seeing everything
and nothing, suspended in eternal twilight.

Outside, the rain sings a requiem;
within, only the rustle of forgotten prayers.
Echoes weave through corridors of memory,
touching the cold stone with gentle fingers,
leaving traces of warmth that linger brief,
before time swallows them whole.

A candle flickers
at the end of an aisle—an ember of hope,
or perhaps a whisper of despair.
Who knows what it guards
in its vigil over hollow vows and
half-remembered hymns?

Wander through the endless cloisters,
beneath vaults that hum with ancient secrets.
Follow the whispers if you dare,
but remember: the cathedral knows,
and it chooses what you may learn.