MYSTERIES OF THE PAST

This is a story about a dream I had the other day.

My soul was touching threads of history. A mystery still wrapped in shadows.

I wasn't born yet in 1966. Not in this body at least, but I remember the box,

I remember the letters, the smell of truth of silence of something lost.

In a tall, empty building with windows like eyes under the desk,

a box waiting in the corner,

the air hung thick heavy with a smell. I can't forget the smell.

My soul was touching threads of history. A mystery still wrapped in shadows.

Holding the light inside the dark. Whispers echo through the heart, a silent story, shadows appear voices cry, but love draws near-near-near

My soul was touching threads of history. A mystery still wrapped in shadows.

I reached for the box. With heart steady hands moving slow,

I opened the lid and the weight hit me below letters from lost souls.

Children, that was never found.

Whispers trapped in time, the scent of forgotten stories.

Pieces of hair, tokens of lives once near faded photos,

signed with hope and fear. All held in a box, heavy and still.

My soul was touching threads of history. A mystery still wrapped in shadows.

Holding the light inside the dark. Whispers echo through the heart, a silent story, shadows appear voices cry, but love draws near-near-near

Letters from children gave a ghostly chill.

The smell of death.

Haunting the air.

The building breathes, silent echoes of the past, a detective, of shadows, uncovering the mysteries of the past.

The box holds stories, no one dared to tell a bridge to the missing.

Children, a silent farewell. Dirty money wrap so tight.

My soul was touching threads of history. A mystery still wrapped in shadows.

Holding the light inside the dark. Whispers echo through the heart, a silent story, shadows appear voices cry, but love draws near-near-near

My soul was touching threads of history. A mystery still wrapped in shadows.