The Quiet After Death

The Quiet After Death

When death came, it did not knock.

It simply opened the door and waited.

There was no cry, no thunder,

only the sound of everything stopping.

I sat beside what was left of breath,

and realised the room still held warmth.

It was not gone, only changed.

It lingered like a story unfinished.

Grief taught me how to listen.

Not for what was lost,

but for what still whispers.

Every silence has a voice if you let it.

Now when I speak to the stars,

I swear they answer back.

Not in words, but in peace.

And that is enough.