blooms fo eternal death

The Bloom of Silence In the garden where the shadows fall, Beneath the whispering willow's call, Death walks softly, a fleeting muse, Binding time in threads we lose. Not a thief, but a weaver of rest, Unseen fingers brush each breath-churned chest. A symphony laced in twilight's thread, Not an end, but a road we tread. The stars bow low when it takes your hand, Guiding souls through a velvet strand. No cry, no tear, no bitter sting— Just the hush of an eternal spring. The petals fall, yet roots remain, A quiet pulse in life's refrain. Not cruel, not kind, not bound to hate, Death is the door we each await. So fear it not, this closing grace, For even the moon has a shadowed face. Where endings bloom, beginnings wait, In death, we find the truest state.