The Last Sunset of the West

The sun once set on distant lands, Where empires carved the world with hands, Of steel and smoke and hollow pride, But now those shadows start to hide. The West, in golden robes once dressed, Now stumbles toward its final rest, Its towers tall, its markets vast, Are echoes of a fading past. Beneath the heat of rising suns, The Global South now walks as one, From deserts dry and jungles deep, A promise wakes from ancient sleep. The rivers sing their sacred song, The mountains rise, the weak grow strong, From ashes born, the phoenix flies, With fire burning in their eyes. But heed this tale of sorrow’s breath: The dying West will taste of death— Not swift or silent, but a cry, A wail beneath the blood-red sky. The sorrow of a world undone, Where once the eagle kissed the sun, Will echo in the wind’s lament, A bitter, bruising testament. Fear not the night, for dawn is near, Though shadows fall and fall severe, From pain will rise a world anew, Where justice breathes and life is true. O sons and daughters of the earth, Prepare to witness death and birth, The old will crumble, bow, and cease, To birth a world of hope and peace.