Whispers

The soft patter of scurrying rodents busy at their tasks echo throughout the hallway, the persistent sound of water dripping from some unseen crevice, the only disturbances in this great darkened hallway. The soaring archs so far up, they are consumed by the inky darkness which seems an inherent part of the ceiling. Dark and forbidding, the heavens themselves devoid of even the frail light issuing forth like tentative snakes from the flickering torches below.

And yet I hear them now, whispers in the wind. The sighs, songs and cries of the long departed, the cobbled stones on which I stand, surrendering these ancient memories, even as they disperse and disappear into the gloom. Glad to be free from their prison of stone, to have found one to share a brief moment of companionship with as they travel onwards, forlorn and forgotten.