Death's Whisper

In earth's mournful sigh, the day does fade, A quietus bow, as light to dark is made. The sun descends; its fervor now grown still, As night's embrace, a somber, haunting thrill. Death's whisper cold, a solitary call, To dance alone, 'neath the starless pall. A journey's end, where memories decay, In silent halls, where echoes die away. The mortal coil, a brittle, fleeting thread, Unravels fast, from life's loom it's fled. Yet in this end, a somber peace we find, As death's cold arms the weary soul do bind. For in the gloom, where final breaths are lost, The fear of end, by dawn's light is not tossed. Death's icy hand, a guide through shadowed door, To realms unseen, where spirits weep and soar. So mourn it now, the quietus of night, For in its grasp, there lies no promised light. A cycle's turn, from ash to dust resumes, In death, we lie, and in its silence, doom.