In shadowed halls where whispers tread,
Upon the threads of dreams long fled,
A shroud of night begins to weave,
The dance of secrets, none perceive.

Behind the veil, where shadows play,
In ink and silence, thoughts decay,
A flicker glints in darkened guise,
The truth concealed, a thin disguise.

What stirs within the ghostly air?
The echoes of forgotten prayer,
A riddle wrapped in twilight’s sigh,
A query cast to the starlit sky.

Each face a mask, each glance a clue,
The labyrinth of the heart breaks through,
With every turn, the pulse ignites,
A melody of whispered nights.

In corners dim, where phantoms dwell,
The stories dance, and dreams compel,
Fragments of time, like scattered ash,
The present meets the fading past.

What haunts us most, a breath, a name?
A flickering spark, a shifting flame,
To chase the dark, where few have trod,
To seek the strange, and touch the odd.

Yet in this haze, where shadows lie,
The essence of the soul will cry—
For mystery, with all its grace,
Is but the tapestry we trace.

So write the words that slip away,
In twilight’s grasp, where visions sway,
For every heart that dares to seek,
Holds mystery’s song—both soft and bleak.