In the whispering dark, where shadows play
The silent lamps speak—flicker, glow, fade away
A story of light in perpetual wander,
Echoes of solitude, they never ponder.
Their lampshades tremble, tales once burnt,
Charred memories linger, forever they turn.
The brass frames rust, but stories remain,
Looping in whispers, like an unending chain.
In corridors where the candles weep,
Secrets untold in the silence creep.
A broken record, in its groove confined,
Recites the history of luminance maligned.