Beneath the shroud of a restless night,
Shadows twist in the silvered light.
Silent echoes of the forgotten tread,
Whisper secrets of the long-dead.
The wind sighs through the gnarled trees,
Carrying murmurs of ghostly pleas.
A moon, wan and hollow, casts its stare,
On empty streets that breathe despair.
Footsteps fall where none should roam,
A hidden path, a forsaken home.
Eyes unseen trace every turn,
In the hollow where lost souls burn.
Time bleeds slow in the misty glen,
A clock without hands, counting when.
The night awaits with patient breath,
To fold the living into death.