Between the folds of time's tapestry,
Arrive whispers veiled as morning dew,
Each stitch an oracle's calligraphy
That writes upon the air—
a gentle touch of déjà vu.
Where once the embers flickered,
Now is silence, a keeper's truth,
Rooms adorned with storied mirrors,
Inflections of light that speak
Of ghosts they once knew.
In corridors abandoned,
A symphony of the unspoken
Sings to the night—
Anchored in the heartbeat of stars,
A canvas unbroken.
Imagine a place unmarked by time,
Etched in the marrow of stories told,
As the morning descends,
A curtain falls; yet,
The echoes grow bold,
Dancing at the edges of the known.