In the hushed hallows of heartbeats halted,
A dirge dances delicately, draping dusk’s silk.
Death—a door deemed definitive,
yet a dawn undisclosed,
Whispers in the waning wind,
"I am both bane and baptism."

Beneath the boughs bowed with
bygone breaths,
Memories murmur, merging with
the mists of myth.
Here lies the lore-keeper,
the lantern-bearer lost,
A tapestry torn and rewoven,
threads of threnodies thrumming.

Life’s loom lingers, longing for the
last stitch of soul-thread,
Yet, in the quiet quake of quitting the quill,
The narrative knots anew—notes
nestled in nether nests,
Where words weave worlds, waltzing
with the wraith-white.

Candle-cradled and crypt-caressed,
the chrysalis shivers,
Shedding shadows, sheer and shard-sharp,
In the in-between, where dreams drink
deep of the dark,
Death, the dream-diver, delves, daring
the depths of the dormant.

O, opulent oblivion! Oft overspoken,
yet only partly perceived,
Each echo, an elegy; each silence,
a stanza split from time’s tome.
The revenant rises, a reflection rimmed
in the riddle of rebirth,
Cloaked in the cerulean cry of
the cosmos, calling.

Behold the beginning birthed from
the bones of the end,
In the spectral splendor of the
stars’ spilled secrets.
For death doles not just despair,
but a double-drawn door,
A passage paved in the profound
pulse of the perpetual.

We wander, wayfarers within the
waltz of worlds, Where death, the deft
dream-weaver, dictates the dance of
the divine,
And life, long-lived in the labyrinth of loss,
Learns at last the language of the limitless.

As ash ascends, so too does the
anthem of anew,
In the hallowed hum of the
horizon’s heart,
Death is but a demarcation,
a dewdrop at dawn,
And life—the lingering light,
leaping lavish into the lore-light

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