byakkoshaw

Quant as to river flows through the desolate forest,
As cold facade of darkness is portrayed from the disappearing sun.
Silent does the night grow still as the world begins its rest,
And the fading bead of hope escapes from every last one.
Time passes as things turn to ash,
eternity seems to never come,
dread for these creatures in which my makes my heart dash,
sharing the similar fate of a dieing plant unable to run.