Sisters of Silence

In a hall of mirrored souls, they sit in rows, Dressed in crimson, their heads bent low. Their eyes, downcast, hide secrets untold, As they write stories yet to be told. The room, a sanctuary of solitude, Where thoughts flow like a quiet, winding brook. Their hands move in unison, a choreographed dance, As they pour their hearts onto the page, a solemn trance. The light, a gentle caress, casts shadows on the wall, A reminder that even in stillness, there is a story to be heard. In this quiet, contemplative space, they find their voice, A collective whisper that echoes, a heartfelt choice. Their red robes, a symbol of passion and fire, A flame that burns within, a spirit that aspires. To be heard, to be seen, to be understood, In this sanctuary, they find their truth, their hearts made of gold.