Within the shadows, lies a tale untold,
Whispers of the past, in copper and gold.
Echoes of laughter in corridors long,
Forgotten in the pulse of time's silent song.
An old key, rusted, to doors never opened,
Carved with symbols, in languages broken.
The tendrils of smoke curling through the years,
Collecting the silent laughter, the buried tears.
A mirror cracked, reflecting forgotten faces,
The whispers of wind through narrow spaces.
A shard of glass, catching the moon's silver,
Shadows dance, as stories quiver.
Rustling leaves in a language of their own,
Speak of the seeds that were once sown.
In the labyrinth of time, where silence reigns,
The heartbeat of history still remains.
Silken threads of the weaver's forgotten loom,
Stitching the fabric of shadow and gloom.
The stars align, in constellations of rust,
Dreams linger here, in the dust and the dust.