In the depth of night, I lay hearing,
The room filled with soft, eerie whispers,
Words tangled in the hum of static,
Shadows dance like ghosts in the moonlit night,
Each sound an echo of a forgotten past,
Memories and dreams, now long lost.
The lost tales of love and regret,
Echo in the corridors, whispers
Of lovers’ quarrels, heard in the static,
Resounding through the endless night,
Each syllable, a fragment of hearing,
A history fading, yet never quite lost.
The static of life, a canvas vast,
Captures the essence of night,
Where whispers of the wind, a haunting echo,
Tell stories to those keen on hearing,
In the silence, the voiceless become lost,
Their whispers merging with the static.
Static, the constant in every night,
Where whispers are the echo of the lost,
A cycle, an endless loop of hearing,
The lost find solace in the whispers,
As night cloaks the world in static,
Echoes of time, in the depth of night.
Hearing the whispers in the static of night,
Brings echoes of a past, once lost,
Night, a keeper of secrets, in whispers,
Tells tales to those still hearing,
In the static, memories echo,
A chorus of the lost, in the stillness of night.
The night whispers to those who are lost,
In the static, there’s comfort in hearing,
The echo of life, in whispers,
Resonating through the fabric of night,
Lost souls find solace in the static,
Their stories an echo, fading yet hearing.
In the static of night, whispers tell,
Of lost dreams, their echo a haunting melody,
To those hearing, a tale unfolds.
