The air, once a caress, now hangs like a shroud,
A humid tapestry woven of sorrow and fear.
The trees, once vibrant, stand gaunt and bowed,
Their leaves, once emerald, now withered and sere.

The river, once a melody, now a choked lament,
A dirge for the life that once flowed with might.
The sun, once a beacon, now wan and spent,
Casting shadows that stretch through the long, dark night.

The earth, once fertile, now barren and cold,
A tomb for the dreams that once bloomed with grace.
The wind, once a whisper, now a story untold,
Carrying with it the scent of a forgotten place.

And I, a mere phantom, lost in this shroud,
Struggle for air, for life, for a breath to be free.
But the grip of suffocation holds me, a heavy cloud,
And I know, in this darkness, there's no escape for me.

© Eros
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