The Prison of Memories
Upon the walls of time, the echoes cry,
Faint whispers of a past that will not fade.
Like ghosts that in the corridors reside,
They haunt the mind, a debt that can’t be paid.
Each fleeting touch, each voice now turned to dust,
Yet in the heart, their presence lingers on.
A chain of echoes forged by love and trust,
A dawn that dies but never greets the dawn.
No key can free the soul from time’s embrace,
No light can purge the specters from the air.
For memory is both prison and a grace,
A shadowed gift, too precious yet unfair.
Thus bound, we walk through hallways carved in pain,
Rewriting pasts that never heal again.
