Echoes of the Past

In quiet rooms where shadows sleep,

the echoes of the past softly creep.

Whispers trace the walls like mist,

telling tales we can't resist.

Time folds in on itself again,

a circle drawn with loss and gain.

Memories flicker, faint and bright,

guiding hearts through endless night.

We carry all we've ever known,

in seeds of sorrow, love, and stone.

The past is not a place to flee—

but a light that shapes what’s yet to be.