Phantoms of Yesteryore

In the shadowed halls of memory,

Where the echoes softly tread,

Lies a haunting, wistful reverie,

Of the days long gone, now dead.

The raven whispers 'Nevermore,'

As I traverse this spectral lane,

Where phantoms from my heart implore,

A bittersweet, perpetual refrain.

Once, the golden sun did shine,

On a youthful, vibrant shore,

Now, I sip from sorrow’s wine,

As I dream of yesteryore.

Poe's shadow falls upon the dusk,

With a melancholy sigh,

Enshrouded in a gentle musk,

Of moments whispered by and by.

In the gloaming, I do ponder,

Wraith-like in my solitude,

Of the days that lie asunder,

Bound in time’s relentless feud.

Eldritch winds of time do murmur,

Through the corridors of thought,

Drawing forth a sorrowed murmur,

For the battles life has fought.

Oh, the joys and pains entwining,

In a dance of days gone past,

Through the darkened night, divining,

Glimmers of a love that lasts.

Nostalgia, with your spectral fingers,

Weave your spell upon my heart,

In this realm where sorrow lingers,

And the shadows ne’er depart.

Thus, in twilight's tender binding,

I embrace what once has been,

In the shadows, ever finding,

Eternal echoes deep within.