Buried in the Dust

In shadows where forgotten hopes go to rust
there lie the letters lost to time’s sick jest.
Each page a whisper of dreams gone unjust,
buried in dust where hidden secrets rest.

Ink-stained confessions.
Passion’s fading light
smothered by neglect’s unholy hand.
The dreams and letters, lost beneath the night.

A pile of memories, once vivid, now a blur,
where love’s promises and regrets intertwine.
They mold and decay, a rotting sepulcher,
a story of the past in a dust-covered shrine.

The wooden beams creak with the weight of their shame.
Dreams lie entombed in a smothered flame,
whispering forgotten truths through the grime.

Beneath the boards where daylight never dares,
the echoes of desires lay cold and still.
Dreams that once soared, now trapped in silent lairs,
swallowed by the darkness, as if by will.

The letters’ ink — a ghost of passion’s stain.
Now nothing but reminders of what’s in vain.

The dust collects on dreams and letters worn.
Their stories, now by time and sorrow torn,
swallowed by the dark, their fate assigned.

In this hidden crypt where the past lies deep,
a silent vigil where lost hopes weep.

With every creak, a ghostly sigh reveals
the weight of what was once so fiercely said.
Love’s confessions lost to the void’s cruel wheels
now drift in dust where they are slowly bled.

The floorboards cradle all that’s lost and gone.
In their dark hold, the past lingers on.

These relics lie where light will never reach.
What once burned hot is now beyond our touch,
shrouded in dust, in darkness, finding rest.
In their dusty tomb,
forever.