DEATH Poem: Whispers of the end, by Zoe Smith

The wind hums low, a solemn tune,
Beneath the watchful, weeping moon.
A final breath, a fleeting sigh,
As silent stars blink in the sky.

The hands that held, the voice that spoke,
Fade like mist, like morning smoke.
Yet echoes linger, soft and true,
In hearts of those who once we knew.

The clock still ticks, the world still turns,
Yet in our souls, a sorrow burns.
A name once whispered, now a ghost,
A love still felt but never close.

The flowers bloom, the seasons change,
Yet something feels so out of range.
A missing laugh, an absent touch,
A longing ache that says so much.

But death is not an endless void,
Nor love a thing to be destroyed.
For in the quiet, in the deep,
They Walk with us in wake and sleep.

Not gone, not lost, just turned away—
Beyond the night, there waits the day