An echo stirs within the hollowed halls,
where strings once sang beneath the moon’s soft gaze,
and woodwinds whispered secrets to the stars.
What melodies were woven in the shadows,
by hands now dust, in lands forgotten by time?
Each note a bridge to worlds never seen,
lost to the gravity wells of emotion,
spiraling into silence, into peace,
into the endless night’s embrace.
An instrument, a vessel—
forged in the fires of longing,
to cradle the songs we dared not sing,
left to rust in the dust of dreams.