In the silence of a world grown still,
Where whispers of the past no longer thrill,
The skies have turned a muted gray,
As time itself begins to fray.
Mountains crumble into dust,
Echoes of life, a distant gust,
Rivers weave a silent song,
In this realm where we belong.
The trees no longer sway with grace,
Their leaves have lost their vibrant face,
Cities stand in ghostly gloom,
As flowers forget to bloom.
Yet in this end, a quiet peace,
A gentle sigh as all will cease,
For in the worldâs final embrace,
We find a trace of eternal grace.