A Haunting Waltz

A Haunting Waltz As I recline, wearied, on this eve so dark and dreary, Whispers in the shadows, tales of Victorian eerie. The moon, a spectral lantern, spills its ghastly glow on cobblestone streets, Where specters of yore, in corsets and top hats, discreetly meet. Beneath flickering gas lamps, secrets deftly concealed, In murky alleys, truths unfold, a clandestine reveal. Gloom, thick as velvet, cloaks the halls of this Gothic terrain, Sorrow and madness entwine in a macabre dance, a haunting refrain. The ticking clock tolls a mournful chime, Velvet curtains shiver, echoing a ghostly rhyme. In the parlor, a specter, veiled in lace, Dances with memories, a waltz in somber grace. Haunted whispers, ethereal threads through tapestry and lace, Betrayals linger, a venomous embrace. Raven calls echo in the ink-black night, Tales of sorrow and lost love take ethereal flight. A portrait on the wall, pallor of despair, Capturing the essence of a soul laid bare. In this Gothic Twilight, where shadows conspire, The heartache of ages, a symphony in the choir. The sepulchral beauty of the night unfolds, In corridors of despair, where grim tales are told. No respite from melancholy, no escape, As the past entwines with fate's remorseless tape. So, I recline here, in this realm of the morose, Where echoes of the past in haunting prose. In the dark Victorian era, where shadows reign, A macabre sonnet etched with sorrow's indelible stain. -Edward