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Echoes of the Dead
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Echoes of the Dead
The house is alive, its breath is a chill,
A specter of sorrow, its presence a thrill.
Each step I take echoes the pain,
Of memories lost, of sins that remain.
The walls bleed shadows, the floors sigh deep,
The dead stir softly, their murmurs seep.
I call to the light, but it turns away,
Leaving me lost in perpetual gray.
The memory of her a curse that corrupts,
A power too fragile, a weight too much.
My kingdom is dust, my crown is despair,
A hollow reminder of dreams laid bare.
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- 1 month ago
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