He turned his gaze to the white expanse above,
Where silence pressed—a spectral shroud, unkind and cold.
The world below—a memory he once called love—
Now flickers, ghostly, in the stories he’s retold.

A fluorescent hum vibrates through sterile air,
His thoughts, like melting glaciers, drift and fracture, unseen.
The atmosphere is heavy with futures stripped bare,
A stillness where even hope forgets to dream.

Pale sunlight pools across the featureless ceiling,
Imagination’s wings lie broken at the bone.
Once, he soared high—the sky a place for dreaming—
Now, gravity’s verdict: he plummets, overthrown.

Time splinters—fractured moments vanish into tomorrow;
The future drifts, unmoored, on tides of dread and fear.
He trades his hope for comfort, veils the ache of his sorrow,
Ignoring every sign the end is near.

Truth cracks the surface—primal, raw, and searing,
Reveals the beast that wears a human face.
We burn the world and call it engineering,
While glaciers weep and forests lose their grace.

As the world outside grows quiet in reflection,
He sees a bird collapse against the glass.
Its wings beat frantic—a silent insurrection—
The cost of progress: nature’s own rejection,
A legacy of greed we can’t surpass.

The bell rings: splitting the sky with action,
A siren’s wail for those who dare to hear.
Most hearts, insulated, shrink from the distraction,
Content to let the void draw ever near.

Glory—etched in headlines, fading by the hour,
A toast to ashes swirling in the breeze.
We write our epitaphs, still drunk on power,
Raise empty glasses—toasting our disease.

And as silence settles, final and complete,
He wonders if the void will mourn defeat—
Or if, when all is lost and nothing’s left to grieve,
We’ll vanish, like the bird, with nothing more to leave.

As his breath grows shallow—measured, faint, and hollow—
He feels the hush descend across the land.
Yet in his chest, a stubborn ember follows—
A pulse that pleads for something to withstand.

His fading eyes reflect the sky’s persistence,
A fragile hope that mercy might forgive.
With one last sigh, he grants the void resistance:
A whisper—soft, enduring—“Let us live.”