The silent doom unfolded beneath a sky as black as coal,
The earth was but a hollow bowl,
Where silence fell like frozen rain,
And darkness gripped with quiet pain.
No wind disturbed the still, dead air,
No voices called from anywhere,
The world was hushed like a muted tomb,
Having embraced within the silent doom.
The trees stood tall, their branches bare,
Like bony fingers in despair,
Their leaves long lost to time’s cruel hand,
Now dust upon the ashen land.
A river once did flow and gleam,
But now it was just a haunted stream,
A twisted path of ghostly grey,
Where echoes drifted and faded away.
The stars above were cold and dim,
Their light was consumed by shadows’ grim,
As if the night itself did swoon,
Beneath the weight of a silent doom.
A tower arose against the void,
Its stones, by ages long destroyed,
However, still, it loomed, a lonely spire,
A relic of some bygone fire.
No footsteps sound upon its stairs,
No whispered invocations filled the air,
The halls were lost in endless gloom,
The echoes stilled by the silent doom.
The ground was scarred with ancient strife,
The remnants of a stolen life,
A battlefield where none remained,
But spectres bound in endless pain bloodstained.
The moon, though full, shed not a glow,
It hovered like a ghostly woe,
A faded orb that could not bloom,
Held captive by the silent doom.
The sky became dim, the air too dense to breathe,
A fog that did not drift or seethe,
But hanged like sorrow in the night,
And choked the world of hope and light.
No dawn ever broke, no day ever rose,
No sun ever burned in empty skies,
For in this realm, the world had met its end,
And silence was its only friend.
Yet somewhere deep, a heart still beat,
A pulse beneath the fractured streets,
A rhythm faint, a distant boom,
Resisting still the silent doom.
But time moved slowly, and life decayed,
The shadows lengthened in their stays,
And soon all breath ceased to loom,
Devoured by the silent doom.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
