The corridors echo not with footsteps but
With whispers, faint-ephemeral, tenuous,
Of people long gone, not dead but out of
Time, detractors, mockers and schemers.
One that played a game of intrigue and
Laughed behind backs, in turn tasting his
Own defeat, a farewell ending in shame
Told to get out of what was once his office!
Another who had a throne and a kingdom,
But was greedy for favours & commissions
Was toppled down after inquisition forced
To flee from town lest shame be heaped.
A doctor he was, not a healer of wounded
Sprits, but a scourge, to strike terror into
Kindred souls, reduced into a ghost, pride
Long gone, holding on to life with medicines.
She was full of art, to make fun of others was
Her desire, a clever schemer and mistress of
Malice she was. Toxic doses she fed, to remove
All opposition was her forte e'en as she smiled.
But, alas, all that remains of are empty echoes,faint
In the corridor, of those who once were, but are there
No longer, not dead, but gone from sight, dim shadows
Fading tendrils of memory, ephemeral and tenuous!
It saddens to wake up to see that they no longer exist.
Surely they'd made life so much more exciting even as
They plotted and schemed to achieve their goals. Surely
I once did know them and wonder how they might be!