Death looks like the darkest night,
A void where starlight dares not shine,
The color of shadows in the deepest cave,
Cold and silent, a whispering wave.
Death is the hue of autumn leaves,
Falling gently, no reprieve,
The scent of earth after the rain,
Silent, still, and free from pain.
Death feels like a lover's sigh,
A final breath, a closing eye,
The touch of frost on a winter's morn,
A quiet end, a soul reborn.
Death sounds like a distant bell,
Echoes from a forgotten well,
The murmurs of the wind's embrace,
A tender call to a resting place.
Death holds the color of the setting sun,
A fading glow when day is done,
The feel of dusk in the twilight's fold,
Soft and gentle, growing cold.
Death wears the face of many dreams,
A silent river, endless streams,
The mask of peace, the veil of grace,
For in the end, death has many faces.
The many faces of death,
Vidya the wise.
JOVIAN
Marcia
