The Ashes Of The Exhausted

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A system that cannot metabolize itself, will eventually be buried beneath the ashes of the exhausted.

They never raise their voices,
only slowly erased by the world
through day after day of wiping and bending.

The system hovers above,
like a lung refusing to breathe,
clean, stable, yet unmoving.

It never admits fault,
never says goodbye,
never sets an end.

And those who bend over,
in an age without graves,
leave behind no names,
only layers of silently accumulating dust.

Not a storm,
not a flame,
but silence that can no longer be expelled,
causing this vast structure,
within its own echoes,
to slowly collapse.