To the chairs that have supported more than their weight in battles; they whisper tales of silent revolutions. Seated shoulders bear scars of unfathomable destinies overlooked in the soft parlors of woven grass. Listen closely, for they are the unsung allies in the night’s quest for lore.
The humble walls, they slouch with stories of relentless stirring winds. Secrets carved into splinters speak fondly of neglected lovers’ meetings, follows strewn posters holding confessions stained in neglect and sorrow. What do they guard through weary nights' vigils?
Painted stars upon the ceiling, brave lie the cosmos crowded in hues less than orderly. Hold firm the painted truth — your tales of their longing are far from illegitimate. Whisper back rectitude they never meant fame nor fold.