The Gray Skies

In shadows' grasp, where whispers wane,
In the hollow of night's dark reign,
There lies a tale of doom and dread,
Where death's cold touch leaves souls unfed.

Beneath the cloak of starless skies,
Where sorrow weeps and anguish cries,
A symphony of chaos plays,
As destruction's dance in silence sways.

In crumbling ruins, dreams decay,
And hope, like ashes, drifts away,
Each heartbeat echoes a mournful dirge,
As fate's cruel hand begins its purge.

The silence screams in a deafening roar,
As death sweeps in, relentless, sure,
Leaving naught but desolation's embrace,
A barren wasteland, devoid of grace.

Yet in the darkness, a flicker of light,
A whisper of defiance amidst the blight,
For even in death's relentless grasp,
Hope's ember burns bright.

So let us stand amidst the fray,
Though shadows deepen, and skies turn gray,
For in the face of death's dark allure,
We'll find our strength, enduring, pure.