Épitaphe d’un Serment Brisé

Upon these ancient ruins, steeped in memory’s breeze,
A promise, once proclaimed, lies buried ‘neath the trees;
Its whispered vows of solace in the winds now fade,
While dusty spires lament the truths that dreams have made.

I. The Wandering Soul
In twilight’s gentle sorrow, roams a wayward soul,
Her countenance, a portrait of a love that’s grown so cold;
She treads the broken pavement, marred by grievous loss,
A pilgrim ‘mong the remnants of a kingdom turned to dross.
Her eyes, though dulled by endless grief and time’s decay,
Hold fires of once-bright passion that have long begun to fray.
In memories of days when hope adorned her tender heart,
Now only ghostly embers flicker, pale as sorrow’s art.

“Remember me,” she cries aloud to crumbling walls of stone,
Her voice a soft and trembling echo of a promise once well known;
For there, amid the rubble, love had sworn to live anew,
Yet Fate, with ruthless irony, contrived a woe to rue.
Each step reveals a chapter in this tale of cursed design,
A chronicle of ardent vows that shattered ‘neath decline.
A vow unkept, a promise cast into the twilight air,
Now haunts her every trembling breath with anguish stark and bare.

II. The City of Ruins
Behold the ancient city, now a mausoleum of time,
Its arches bend and crumble, bridged by realms of silent chime;
Each broken column whispers tales of once-resplendent feasts,
Where laughter mingled sweetly with the hum of distant beasts.
The boulevard, a ribbon lost ‘cross landscapes long decayed,
Bears patina of forgotten texts and dreams that time betrayed;
Within these walls, the ghostly forms of yore seem gently stir,
But none can mend the fragile bond that Fate did thus incur.

The sun, in pallid grace, descends behind the ruined spire,
While twilight cloaks the city with a sombre, cold attire.
Beneath that mournful radiance, the wandering soul holds fast
Her memory of promises that Fate refused to cast
In bonds of steadfast love and hope—a pledge that now decays,
Like all that once was radiant within those long-forgotten days.
Each stone, each shattered relic, echoes tender, lost regret,
A litany of vows unsaid that naught but sorrow can beget.

III. The Promise Unfulfilled
Upon a night in harvest’s gloom, ‘neath starless, wintry skies,
She met the voice of destiny—so soft, yet resolute and wise:
A friend, a kindred spirit bound by whispered, fated lore,
Who pledged to nurture hope anew though world was void before.
“Fear not,” he spake, with ardour deep, “for dawn shall rise again,
And every night’s despair shall, in time, give way to light’s refrain.”
With tender words he sealed the vow upon a parchment scarred,
A promise etched in fervent ink, though destiny marred.
But silent horrors, unforeseen, conspired in cruel intent
To break that bond before its time, a promise all unspent.

Alas, within the city’s gloom their sacred fates were twined,
Yet Fate, unyielding mistress grim, left this dear vow maligned.
For in one fateful, bitter night, beneath a weeping moon,
The friend, whose heart had burned so bright, was lost all too soon.
No whispered word, no tearful prayer could stave off death’s decree,
And left our wandering soul alone amid ruins of the plea.
She clutched his tattered letter, filled with vows that might have been,
And in that silent, anguished void, beheld her dream unseen.

IV. The Bitter Call of Memory
Her footsteps faltered as she paused beside a ruined wall,
Where faded words of promise lay inscribed in ancient call:
“Evermore, my dearest friend, in hope our hearts entwine,
And through life’s dark, unyielding storm, our love shall brightly shine.”
But now those words, once bright with promise, lay in tatters strewn,
A relic of a bygone dream, beneath a weeping moon.
The dark and mournful corridors of memory did surmount
Each whispered note of prophecy that Fate would dare discount.
A wind, so soft, yet laden with the weight of sorrow’s art,
Breathed over ruins, stirring grief within her tender heart.
Her soul, bereft of innocence, did wander through the night,
While hope, that fickle ember once alight, gave in to endless blight.

“Why dost thou leave me so forlorn, in ruins of despair?
Why doth Fate’s cruel hand strip life of hope, so stark and bare?”
Her voice, a plaintive murmur, wove its way through hallowed stone,
A dirge that spoke of dreams betrayed and promises unknown.
The night itself seemed to lament the loss of sacred trust,
And every shadow whispered low of joy transformed to dust.
For in the heart of ruined lands, where hope has turned to naught,
The promise made in fervent youth, all foolish dreams had wrought
A dolor deep as ancient grief, inscribed in every beam
And left the soul to wander on, encapsulated in a dream.

V. The Echo of Untimely Fate
Now, ‘neath a sky of obsidian, her journey turns to rue;
For in each fractured fragment, Fate’s design appears askew.
Beneath a crumbling archway, she beholds an image faint:
Her friend, a spectral shape of love, whose visage seems to taint
The pallid glow of memory with shadows ever drawn,
A mirror of the promise lost at the crest of mournful dawn.
“Thou art the keeper of our vow,” the ghostly echo chides,
Yet every word, though soft and clear, in suffering now subsides.
Her heart, a chalice overflowing with the bitter wine of grief,
Finds no reprieve in phantom dreams, no solace or relief.

“Alas,” she weeps, “thy promise lies, broken ‘neath the weight
Of sorrow, scorned by Time’s relentless hand—a tragic, cruel fate!”
Her words dissolve like fragile mist upon the desolate lands,
While visions of a bygone pact still rest within her hands.
For every step led her to this wretched, woeful end,
Where hope did fade like twilight’s gleam, no solace to attend
The sorrow of a promise spurned, the dream that fell apart,
And left the spirit wandering lost, bereft of lovesick heart.

VI. The Dark Descent
As hours melded into endless night and anguish deepened still,
Her soul no longer sought the dawn, for it had known its bitter ill.
The ruined city, in its grief, became a crypt of silent screams,
Where every stone recounted woes and shattered, broken dreams.
She moved through corridors of time, each echo a lament,
Recalling words of heartfelt oath, now void, irrevocably spent.
The hallowed halls of memory, now choked with vengeful fate,
Mocked her with visions of the past that would forever captivate
Her every yearning, every sigh, until her spirit grew as cold
As the ancient stones that form this tomb, where broken promises hold.

“Must hope, once warm and bright, transform to naught but ash and pain?
Is there no final, sweet reprieve, no end to this disdain?”
Her plea did rise in somber tones, a hymn of lost belief,
Yet silence, like a spectre grim, affirmed her heart’s deep grief.
For every promise made in light has withered in despair,
And every tender vow once sworn dissolves in midnight air.
The wandering soul, ensnared by fate, now treads her weary way,
Her spirit chained to memories that never shall allay
The pangs of promise unfulfilled, the sorrow unrelieved—
A dirge of love and hope forsaken, in loss forever grieved.

VII. The Inevitability of Tragic End
And so, within this city ruined, ‘neath the pall of timeless night,
The wandering soul resigns her heart to destiny’s cruel bite.
Her final steps, a somber dance, upon the broken and the worn,
Presage the end of hope itself, as grief becomes reborn.
With every act of mourning pen and every whispered regret,
She weds herself to memory, in bonds she ne’er can forget.
The stars, though dim, look down in grief at what her heart has borne,
And each celestial beam laments the promise left forlorn.
In the silent eclipse of her soul, the vow remains unkept,
A relic of a better life, in ruin now adept
To haunt the corridors of time, a lesson harsh and dire—
That dreams of hope, when left unfulfilled, inflame the soul with fire.

Beneath the spectre of that lasting truth, her eyes do close,
And the whispers of her bygone oath in silence softly pose:
“Here lies the promise, cold and stark, that Fate did not abide;
Here lingers hope, once pure and bright, now lost beside the tide.”
The ancient winds, in mournful strains, recite this woeful tale,
Of love and hope, and promise sworn that rose, yet doomed to fail.
Her spirit, now enshrined in sorrow’s depths, doth softly fade away,
Leaving behind the ruins of a promise turned to clay.
No mortal hand can mend the past, no time can cure this scar,
For hope, once lost, remains a wraith, haunting from afar.

Epilogue: The Final Benediction
In the heart of night’s cold silence, where spirits kiss the shore,
The mournful winds declare in grief the bond that is no more;
A promise made in tender youth, though forged in realms of grace,
Now lies shattered in the dust of time, devoid of any trace.
The wandering soul, compelled by fate, did meet her tragic end
With naught but memories to console, her heart unable to mend.
Thus, in this ruined, desolate place, where echoes softly call,
The lesson lives in whispers low, in every shattered wall:
That hope, when left untouched by deeds, grows dim as fading fire,
And promises, though dearly made, may fall to dark desire.

So too must we, in mortal strife, reflect on vows once sworn,
The price of hope, the weight of dreams, and all that we have torn.
In quiet rue, we honor those whose hearts were led astray,
And learn that in the ruins vast, the truth shall find its way.
Thus ends the tragic ballad sung beneath the mournful skies,
A tale of promise ever lost, of hope that slowly dies.
Let every heart that listens close, remember this, and then,
Accept the fate that dreams, like ghosts, may vanish when?—amen.

And now, as shadows claim the night and stars commence to weep,
The ghost of promise lingers still in memories we keep.
For in that mournful, fated hour, when hope was left forlorn,
The wandering soul departs this earth, her spirit silently shorn.
Her final breath—a whispered lie—the promise unreturned,
Leaves us to ponder all our dreams and all the hearts that burned.
In ruins deep, where hope is lost and promises decay,
We find a truth most hard to bear: in loss, we all must pay.

Thus ends my plaintive, somber verse, a requiem of time,
Where every word and every sigh become a mournful chime.
Remember well this tragic ballad, let it shape your view,
For in the loss of promises, there lies a fate most true:
That hope unkept may be our doom, and love, though dearly sworn,
Can fade beneath the weight of grief, like petals, softly torn.