I touch the walls of the ancient room,
And feel the breath from another age.
From here I glimpse the transient silvered moon;
I trance dark clouds amidst storm -filled rage.
The wind it thunders, though unrestrained;
These walls of stories and secrets kept
In silence resolute unexplained,
If only they awoke instead of slept.
What stories are wrought which they could reveal?
What hidden whispers might be heard ?
I feel them shudder absorb the feel,
The storm abates with those memories blurred.