Misconstrued Truth

Bowls of visions, truth behold- 

Corridors lined with rotting mold. 

Rooms fall between empty frames, 

Caving in on the buried graves. 

Listen to the echoes, as they whirl about-

Connect the dots, and find your way out. 

Author's Note

Please leave any thoughts or comments, whether good or bad. Ignore any grammar problems. As a background: this is my second poem ever written and I am 21 years old. Thanks!