In chambers cold, by shadows kept, A lonely boy, in slumber swept, By visions dark, of mind unfurled, A youthful heart, against the world.

He dreamt of tombs, with ravens black, Their eyes like coals, on weary track, Of whispered lore, from ages past, Of secrets whispered, built to last.

A haunting moon, on pallid stone, Where spirits moan, a mournful tone, Of beauty lost, and love's decay, A premonition of the coming day.

He dreamt of battles, fought in vain, Of heroes fallen, in the rain, Of dreams that die, with fleeting breath, And shadowed halls, that harbor death.

A restless soul, with burning mind, In realms of darkness, solace finds, For youth's despair, in whispers low, A taste of madness, yet to grow.

He wakes to dawn, with trembling hand, These morbid thoughts, he can't withstand, A seed is sown, of what will be, The macabre muse, for all to see.