The Illusion:
Creating a façade, weaving a dream
Everything and anything's possible
Empty halls ring with sudden laughter
Invisible children's footsteps run through darkened corridors
Echoes of dresses rustle, heels click on waxed, wooden floors
A stirring of dust rises, spread by invisible fingers
A sound like a sigh, though maybe it was just a breeze
An empty chair at a dusty table
Roses, long dead and forgotten lie in a corner
Their odor gone, their beauty not
A ruined dream of hope, bound by a black velvet ribbon
A letter, never mailed, crumbling to dust
The waxy seal, dusty and cracked
The paper yellowed with age
A locket