Ashes of the Void

Beneath a sky of ash and tar,

where dawn erupts with a savage star,

silence is rent by a burning scream,

revealing a void that shatters the dream.

In forests wild with raging flame,

each leaf burns without a name,

every broken branch cries its pain,

of a life that’s lost, without gain.

A fierce river roars o’er heated stone,

its torrid surge forever lone,

mirroring wrath in its endless tide,

a brutal meaning it cannot hide.

Mountains stand as stoic guards so high,

etched in stone against a fiery sky,

watching chaos in nature’s pyre,

void of hope, devoid of desire.

Each new dawn strikes with searing blow,

no tender promise does it bestow,

only the bitter birth of a day so stark,

leaving no gleam, no hopeful spark.

In a withered rose, each thorn ignites,

scorching marks of unyielding nights,

pain burns deep in flesh and lore,

a testament to suffering at its core.

Night descends with relentless chill,

stars like cold coals on a windowsill,

offering no path or light to guide,

but spilling sorrow far and wide.

The barren field, a wound laid bare,

spreads despair in the stagnant air,

each grain of dust a muted cry,

for a redemption that will never lie.

In our final gasp, our essence fades away,

ashes scattered where dreams decay,

a cycle of ruin, hope destroyed –

a universe consumed, utterly devoid.