The sun set upon the last green leaf,

silence, then-- the world did grieve,

for stone it 'twas, the final hope,

a deathly cold, dusty globe.

Vivid and green, foliage and forest,

fires and light that shone at their warmest,

all turned to scree as the reign melted,

the rule of the sun and life had ended.

Ominous silence, stifling and empty,

there's death in the wind, the scent is heavy,

the sweating air swells through the doom,

the flower that thrives in radiant execution, a sole inky bloom.

Demise crawls in the silent breeze,

mournfully whistles past gravelly trees,

missing the life through which it ran its fingers,

the smell of doom eternally lingers.

The ocean, with no place to roam,

frozen in undulating foam,

a salted stone chest of underwater treasury,

the brine in the air is nothing but memory.

Gravelly clouds, suspended in eternity,

obelisk rain, fated to fall eternally,

the preserved light falls upon death,

the landscape is frozen, not a single breath.

The trees that used to sing, deep and throaty,

now sit silent, their songs an echo only,

the emerald grass 'twas alive and humming,

now motionlessly pitiful, bleached and crumbling.

All the life, all the hope, all the color and ray,

'twas wiped away, in a sole day,

creation and nature were roughly thrown,

where once 'twas softness, now there is stone.