Our

Here is your poem about death:
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In the hush between two heartbeats,
a shadow stretches long.
It does not shout, nor break the air,
but hums a patient song.

It waits beneath the autumn leaves,
where roots and whispers meet;
its hands are neither cruel nor kind,
yet infinitely complete.

Not flame, not frost, but quiet tide,
that pulls both tide and shore;
its current carries every name,
to lands with no before.

And though it walks with sable clouds,
and wears the weight of night,
the lanterns of the stars remind—
death is not the end of light.
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Would you like this poem to carry a darker tone or a more peaceful acceptance?