The wind blows down empty hallways
looking for a flame to flirt with
or a body to caress.
It howls, lost
wondering why the halls
stood silent and
why all the mothers are not attending crying children,
why all the shadows and demons are not frightening the young into their bedtime stories,
why all the lovers are not sneaking into their beloved's bedchamber.
The hallways, dark and still
smelled of old flames' smokey souls
snuffed before midnight.
Mourning, the wind whispers
ancient sonnets that traveled on its path
leaving behind bleeding hearts dripping of rose petals
wilting down the cold steps.
Curling upwards, the gusts thrash dried buds against each other,
desperately searching for something to hold,
something to remember
a time when hallways bustled with life
when flames eternal lit the nights
and laughter echoed back to the songs of the wind.