Beneath the Gray

Leaves drift down,

once crimson, gold, and amber-bright

now brittle husks, brown and ash.

Fields of flowers bow to time.

Their fragrant breath is choked by rot

beneath a sky that grieves in gray.

Water, thick with algae’s grasp,

swirling in a sluggish, soured stillness.

Life writhes beneath the surface still,

while pale bones whisper

through the silt.

Undead fish

glide through veils of compost,

silent heirs

to a drowned domain.

The earth 

once ripe with bloom and birdsongs

stands barren.

Its voice devoured

by dust and time.

Yet in the quiet ruins,

something stirs.

A sprout

Frail. Forgotten.

pushes through the ashen crust.

It quivers

in the breath of wind.

A whisper of defiance,

the last shred

of hope.