Sands of Eternity
Life unfolds in a gentle tirade,
Through sands of time that slowly fade,
We dance upon days in light arrayed,
Until dusk beckons, and colors jade.
Moments whisper, they softly tread,
In silent marches, futures spread,
Beneath the stars, our hearts are led,
To ponder life, and where it's wed.
Birth's first cry to final breath,
A thread through eternity, life bequeaths,
Each soul a story, beneath the heaths,
Of whispered dreams, before the wreath.
A cycle spun from joy and strife,
Each ending, a slice of the beginning's knife,
Death: a comma, in the sentence of life,
A pause to reflect on the past's rife.
In death's quiet, secrets are spoken,
The cycle of being, never broken,
From ash to ash, life is a token,
In the infinite sea, a single drop's notion.
Chapters Unwritten
Life writes itself in unseen ink,
On pages blank, at the brink,
Of vast unknowns, where thoughts interlink,
Where destinies waltz on existence's rink.
Every heartbeat a word inscribed,
In the tome of time, lives are described,
But in death, the narrative is proscribed,
Leaving echoes of tales, passions imbibe.
Characters rise, and they fall,
In life's grand play, they give their all,
Until the final curtain call,
Sends stories to memories' hall.
But what of chapters left unturned?
Of fires never kindled, nor burned,
In death's silence, is wisdom learned,
Or are we just to dust returned?
The final chapter, unwritten by fate,
Holds no words of hate or debate,
Just silence—a boundless, empty slate,
For the unborn tales to patiently wait.
Whispered Legacy
Each life, a whisper in time's vast sea,
A ripple that echoes subtly,
Dancing to its own melody,
Before it fades to legacy.
In the symphony of the bustling throng,
Where does the lone whisper belong?
Swept in the current, yet ever strong,
A note that resounds life's whole song.
Death comes, a solemn, quiet guest,
Sealing the whisper into eternal rest,
Yet in the hush, a lasting zest,
A force that put life to the test.
What's whispered in life, in death is sealed,
In memories, in hearts that we shield,
A legacy that's ever revealed,
In the lives we touch, the fates we wield.
Let the whisper of our days remain,
Not in sorrow, nor in pain,
But as a force that will sustain,
A gentle power, a life's refrain.
Dusk-bound Reverie
With the orange glow of the setting sun,
We ponder the battles we've lost or won,
Life's dusk emerges when the day is done,
And we drift into the unknown, one by one.
The light that flickered in vibrant eyes,
Slowly dims as the old day dies,
And in its stead, a new night lies,
Veiled in stars across the skies.
We grasp for time, elusive thief,
Respite from life's ephemeral grief,
For in death's approach, we seek relief,
A silent solace, however brief.
Yet in the hearts that love engraves,
In the whispers between the graves,
Reside the moments that life saves,
In the current that memory braves.
So let us in the dusk-bound reverie,
Embrace both life and death's decree,
For they're intertwined, and ever free,
In the cycle’s dance, eternally.
The Mortal Coil
The mortal coil, ever spinning round,
We're born, we live, then to the ground,
In these layers, life is wound,
A steady pulse, a vibrant sound.
We dance upon the stage so bright,
Each day a struggle, each dark a fright,
Pushing through with all our might,
Until death snuffs out the light.
Yet, what grace in life's fierce fight,
To have seen the day, to have felt the night,
Confronting death, that ultimate plight,
With memories held in love's tight kite.
In the end, what does it mean?
This passing from the scene unseen,
Do we fade or to dreams wean,
At the tether's end, what lies between?
Thus, we spin in time's great wheel,
In every joy and every ordeal,
Until death's slumber upon us steal,
The mortal coil's final seal.
Embrace of Shadows
Shadows fall as life retreats,
Into the mystery that death completes,
In the embrace where the eternal greets,
The heart that no longer beats.
Yet in the shadows, life does weave,
A tapestry that souls conceive,
We thread our tales, laugh and grieve,
Until it’s time for us to leave.
In every shadow, there lies a fear,
A silent whispering to the ear,
That all must fade, disappear,
Into the void, oh so near.
But shadows are cast by light obtained,
By lives well-lived, by love unchained,
Does death not prove life sustained,
In memories’ glow, forever maintained?
Each shadow's touch, a brush with fate,
An intertwining of the late,
Life and death, a balanced state,
In shadows’ arms, we contemplate.
Veil of the Departed
There's a veil between the now and then,
Woven from the threads of women and men,
A fabric of existence, again and again,
Torn by death, beyond our ken.
Life - a tapestry on the loom of time,
Each thread a story, each rhythm a rhyme,
Until death's scissors cut the prime,
And the weaving ceases, its final chime.
Behind the veil, do they watch and wait?
Do they smile at fate, do they contemplate?
The beauty they left, the love they create,
The pain they end, the peace they state?
We barely glimpse through this thin divide,
Straining to see to the other side,
Where souls in quiet repose abide,
Freed from life’s turbulent tide.
Life and death, a dance through the veil,
One on each side, both grand and frail,
As the living sing, the departed sail,
In the silent sea, where love’s winds prevail.
Murmur of the Finite
Life murmurs soft beneath the skin,
A quiet beat from deep within,
A finite song that's bound to thin,
As death's silence settles in.
Through every murmur, life thrives,
In every heartbeat, it survives,
A journey on which every soul arrives,
At the shore where the finite dives.
Death's hush falls like a winter's snow,
It stills the murmur's vibrant flow,
And lays the fiery passions low,
As into the vast unknown we go.
But is it silence that death brings?
Or the murmur of unseen wings?
The final note that in us rings,
An echo of time’s whisperings.
The finite's murmur, life's own voice,
In death, may it find its final choice,
To resonate, to still rejoice,
In the life that was, and its tale's poise.
Scarlet Leaves of Fall
Life's scarlet leaves drift to the ground,
Whispers of time without a sound,
Each a story once profound,
Now parting with autumn's abound.
In their hue, a brilliant death,
A final dance, a last breath,
Yet, they glow with life till the waning heath,
Beneath the trees, they find their wreath.
Their descent, a graceful fall,
A testament to life's gallant call,
Surrendering to winter's pall,
In the cycle that captivates us all.
But do they fear the coming chill?
Or embrace the rest, the silent still?
Death – not an end, but a moment to fulfill,
Nature's rite, its own will.
As life's scarlet leaves decorate the ground,
In death, a tranquil beauty is found,
For even as they sleep, tight and sound,
In the spring, life circles back around.
Final Brush Stroke
Each life is art, a canvas vast,
Full of hues from the first to the last,
Yet death arrives, sure and fast,
As the final brush stroke is cast.
Colors blend on the days we tread,
Shades of joy, pain, and dread,
A masterpiece from the heart is bled,
Until the palette of life is shed.
What artistry does death provide?
A closure or journey to another side?
The painting rests, no longer to abide,
But in other realms, does the essence glide?
The artist's touch no more to see,
A silence falls on the canvas free,
Yet the art lives on, a legacy,
In the memories of you and me.
Life's poignant art, in moments stroked,
In love, in loss, in dreams evoked,
Death's the silence, not the yoked,
As the final brush stroke is softly soaked.
