In darkness where the light fades away, A quiet whisper drifts through the mist. The last memory — like summer’s wings, That soar into the endless haze. Time flows, yet seems not to exist, An illusion that forces us to live. The past and future intertwine, And moments freeze — as if they wander. Within the heart, the final minute pounds, Just barely touching my soul. A whisper in the dark — like wine, Drunk forever as if to battle. Words vanish, and all falls silent, Time escapes — no turning back. The last breath fades and the world will dim, And the whisper will vanish — into the endless day. Yet in this illusion, in this forgetting, A memory lives — like a flame. And even in darkness, in solitude, Time is no enemy, but a wandering dream.