In the silence between heartbeats, where echoes fear to tread,
the phantom limb writes notes on the fabric of time.
An unseen finger brushes against cold steel,
you look, but only shadows remain.
A breeze, carrying whispers from yesteryears,
caresses the spectral threads woven through dreams.
Do you remember, or was it a trick of the light?
Your consciousness dances just out of reach,
like the last grains of sand slipping through a haunted hourglass.
Listen closely; the walls have ears,
and they hum the tune of what once was.
A forgotten melody drifts through the hollows,
resonating with the memories of the specter’s waltz.