The night is dark

The night is dark, the air is cold.
The bones feel weak, frail and old.
The moon, her pale face, shown in the night sky.
The stars seem distant, the earth a forgotten thought in time.
The bells ring hollow, no longer able to proclaim thier sanguin chime.
Too many days long passed, too many years vanish and die.
Forgotten is the light of the sun, the song of the loon when they cry.
There is only comfort in the shadows; and the cringe and shudder at the warm embrace.
Shutting eyes tightly closed, suddenly are forgotten every name, every face.
The tides grew mute, the wind only scents grown stale.
The olden trees tremble but offer no whisper, no sacred rhythm.
The great waters grow still, decay and darken with time.
Spirits wander in a listless trance.
They do not dream, they do not dance.
The souls mouth becomes clenched and sealed.
The sentence written in stone, it will not be appealed.
The sleep has been to long, the heart too hard to break.
What has been offered is given, what is forbidden they will take.
And as the sun burns his inferno, and the air grows thin and stale.
The mountains crumble and burn, the green valleys wither and pale.
The sea turns to sand and the forests, a chard, blackened sight.
The spirits fall forever into a deep sleep, unable to hope and fight.
The moon hides her face, weeping for the lost ones in the grave.
Whose hearts grew too cold, too bitter to try and save.
The sun burns on, in his rage, he cannot hear the wails or cries.
And finally the earth takes her last shuddering breath and dies.