Calls from the Depths

The sky unravels, thick with ash, A chocking breath, a world's last grasp. The trees, once proud, now twist and writhe, Their shadows stretch, and darkness thrives.
The wind hums low, an ancient curse, A whispered doom, rehearsed, rehearsed. It claws the earth, it bends the bone, And leaves the living cold, alone.
Yet deep beneath the fractured stone, Where roots have bled and seeds have grown, a pulse remains, defying fate, a quiet spark, through dark, awaits.
Its wings beat soft against the gloom, A fragile light within the tomb. Through darkness reigns, it does not see
The dawn will come. It always frees.