The Silent Sky

Upon the dying naught of the sky’s decay,
the heavy murmur of clouds drifts away,
as twilight drains its enchantment,
and the air’s visage clouds in silence.
The stars, old scribes of dreams of stone,
softly whisper stories long unknown,
through echoes of spent light and deep regret,
they murmur stone dreams, cold and unperceived.
The sky, stripped bare of its azure hue, conceals,
in a shade devoid of color, devoid of hope,
yet the dreams endure, hidden within the fold,
like stones that wait for ears to hear their tale.
And thus the world expires in a soft sigh,
while the stars, stubbornly, keep speaking high,
embroidering stone dreams on the lofty sky,
in the silence of a sky that shall not shine again.