In the corners of the heart, deep and forgotten,
there lies a trove of silence, untouched by light,
where whispers of ancients weave dark stories,
beneath the watchful eyes of the moon's hollow gaze.
Phantom voices dance like mist, speaking
in tongues lost to the mortal ear,
unraveling the tapestry of nocturnal secrets
that breathe in the creeping shadows.
Within thy dreams, whispers dwell,
on winds of woe, they cast their spell.
A treasure lies beneath thy bed,
—silent echoes, softly tread—