TW:Here, where past and present meet, Mystery sings in silence deep, In the attic's heart, secrets greet, Awakening wonders from their sleep.
(In the attic's hushed embrace, Where dust dances in forgotten light, A rusty key, with time's own trace, Whispers secrets cloaked in night.Cobweb veils and shadows weave, Through old trunks and memories' keep, Every corner bids you to believe, In tales long locked, in dreams asleep.A chestnut chest with iron bands, Holds stories of a bygone age, The key, cold in trembling hands, Turns the lock to life's lost page.)
In the attic dim, where shadows weave,
Beneath a box, where whispers sound,
A rusty key, long lost and found,
Amidst the dust, a secret keeps.
In cobwebs shrouded, silent grace,
What lock it fits, none can be sure,
A safe, a door, or something more?
This key of iron, time's embrace.
Or to a castle, grand and vast,
With secrets worth their weight in gold,
A treasure box of wonders old,
Where dreams and wonders hold steadfast.
With tapestries of tales untold,
Through ancient halls with views so bright,
And rooms adorned in gleaming gold,
Stained glass that dances with the light.
To realms beyond our known estate,
Where skies are painted, colors wild,
A world where fantasies run wild?
Or does it turn a portal's gate?
In dusty stillness does it stand,
Its mystery calls, a silent plea,
What wonders hide, what could there be?
A key so small, with tales so grand.
A world of secrets waits to bloom,
In shadows deep, a dream concealed,
What stories might this key reveal?
Beneath that box, in attic's gloom.
YOU ARE READING
Echoes of the Unspoken
PoetryHere lies a collection of poems, scattered like leaves, shared in the hope that someone might find solace and know they are not alone in their turmoil. Beware, for these poems are not for the faint of heart; they arise from the darkest recesses of m...
