Ancient Wispers
In twilight’s grasp where shadows bleed,
Lies a land of forgotten creed.
Where stone-bound idols grimly stare,
And silent rites hang thick in air.
Ancient whispers haunt the night,
From crypts submerged in murky blight,
With languages no tongue recalls,
Yet echoing through ancient halls.
The blackened bones of long-lost kings,
Lie swathed in curse-bound silver rings.
Their hollow sockets dimly glow,
With secrets that no soul should know.
Underneath the spectral beams,
Dance shadows bound in ages' schemes,
As spirits hum a ghastly tune,
That ebbs and flows beneath the moon.
Tread lightly here, for they remain,
Bound to their stones with iron chains,
And should you wake the buried screams,
They’ll pull you deep into their dreams.
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