Hidden Secrets

At dusk, the attic calls, shadows stretch and yawn,

an old latch remembers the laughter that’s gone.

Rust clings to metal, like secrets to bones,

where treasures of childhood lie hidden alone.

We hid our bright dreams there, tucked beneath dust,

a sanctuary of wishes—how fragile their trust.

And my brother’s voice echoes in tones soft and low,

the stories we shared only we could know.

Each creak of the wood tells a tale of our fight,

that latch, a reminder, a door to the night.