Once, in the hushed corners of this world,
The whispers lingered like phantom echoes,
Voices stitched together from shadows,
Clinging to the velvet veil of midnight.
The old chapel stood in solemn decay,
Its stone fingers reaching out to grasp
The unspoken truths buried in silence,
Crumbling walls embrace the unknown.
A lantern flickered in the forgotten aisle,
Casting shapes that danced like memories
Long abandoned, with stories of fear
And longings inked in despair's handwriting.
An owl hoots—a broken conversationalist—
Witness to the whispered confessions
Of the wind as it wails through empty pews,
A choir of solitude in a cathedral of dusk.