In the cobwebbed corners of forgotten minds,
where whispers of yore tremble like candlelight,
fleeting are the shadows of ancient echoes,
a dance of phantoms upon the walls of time.
A solitary raven cries amidst the shroud,
its voice a mere ripple in the sepulchral dusk.
Memory, a wisp, elusive and cold,
flickers, then fades, a weary sigh of night.
Have you felt the chill of ages past?
The touch of forgotten dawns, pale and spectral?
Beyond the veil, a glimmer -
ephemeral, eternal, in the silence it dwells.