In shadows deep and cold as stone,
There dwells a soul, forlorn, alone,
Bound by chains of mortal strife,
A captive of the reaper's knife.
Entombed in silence, thick as night,
He yearns to pierce the veil of light,
To find his essence, pure and free,
Released from death's dark tyranny.
His heart a furnace, burning bright,
A beacon in the starless night,
A spark of life, enduring flame,
Ignited by a whispered name.
Within these walls of ebon dread,
He grasps for memories long dead,
In dreams, his spirit soars on high,
Eclipsing shadows of the sky.
As sands of time wither away,
The spectral hand of fate will sway,
He seeks the strength, to break the chain,
And face the reaper, free of pain.
And though his body now confined,
No shackles bind his restless mind,
He whispers softly to the breeze,
The words that set his spirit free.
"O Death, your grip I will withstand,
For in my heart, I understand,
The soul endures beyond life's wane,
And in that truth, I shall remain."
Bound no more, his essence flies,
Beyond the reach of mortal eyes,
To realms of light, beyond despair,
The captive soul finds solace there.
