Needless Things: Death Looms

When death looms near with silent, patient grace, It walks in shadows time cannot erase. No rose endures the weight of endless blooms, Each petal falls to feed the earthen tombs. We chase the dawn, yet dusk forever comes— Its hush more certain than the loudest drums. In every breath, mortality resumes— A fleeting fire that fades, then softly blooms. NNN