The clock ticks soft, its shadow long, Whispers of ghosts in a faded song. Familiar faces, now dust and air, Echoes of moments we’ll never share. A door creaks open, cold and wide, What’s left behind, what’s yet to hide? Through candlelight, the past retreats, While time, relentless, beats and beats. We stand on thresholds, hearts grown thin, Waiting for something that might begin.