In the cathedral's forgotten marble arches,
the winds weave through the remnants of ancient prayer,
whispering secrets only the moths dare comprehend.
When the midnight chime fades, silence is a lie,
for within the stone sanctuary, notes of olden songs
twist and recoil, a tempest contained by the ghostly nave.
Beneath the pews, labyrinth whispers confine restless shadows,
while chandeliers of rusted iron sway in crimson glow,
a dance remembered by absent company alone.
The reverberate calls, audacious echoes, passing silent mirrors,
reflections are tainted with winter’s breath, cold and pure,
unmasking hollow figures that exist solely to wail.
A creeping cadence envelopes your being,
intangible yet carnal, calling forth a truth uninvited,
where memories of the jesters’ laughter thread deeper than monuments.
Leave footprints upon these sacred cobbles,
etch in forgotten grottos the eternal sighs,
for the mirage will always return to orbit.