There is a stillness
that arrives before the end-
not loud,not cruel,
just the quiet slipping of breath
from the body's old ritual.

The clock does not stop.
It keeps ticking for the world,
while one heart
folds its final rhythm
into silence.

Memories gather
like birds in the dusk,
each one uncertain
whether to stay or fly.

The room does not change.
The walls remain,
the ceiling holds,
but something leaves-
unseen,
unfelt except by absence.

There is no voice
to mark the moment.
No hand to pull back the curtain.
Only the closing of eyes
that will not open again.

And all the plans-
the waiting words,
the small hopes shelved for later-
fall like ash
into the shape of never.