MY LAST

A time will come when skilled hands, once a master's tool, Will lay still, their craftsmanship, a forgotten rule. Eyes that shone like stars, bright with knowledge and might, Will dim, like embers, losing their radiant light. Degrees, once proudly worn, like badges of honor bright, Will gather dust, their value, lost in endless night. The scent of odza room, that fragrant, sacred space, Will fade, as memories, like autumn leaves, erase. The mind, a canvas, once alive with vibrant hue, Will freeze, as judgment's brush, paints a different view. Creation's spark, that fueled my soul's desire, Will flicker out, leaving only ashes, cold as fire. Mansions built, with sweat and toil, will crumble, lost, Buried beneath, the silence, of a forgotten coast. My last whisper, a final breath, a moment's sigh, Will echo through eternity, as the curtain falls, and I say goodbye. Night, day, or morning, my last moment draws near, A mystery, known only to the keeper of the year. When will your last whisper be? Will it be dawn's first light? Or dusk's last shadow? Only time, the thief, holds the sight.