A Requiem for the Undead

In the twilight's mournful cloak, I shuffle, devoid of grace,

Sightless eyes gaze upon a world, lost without a trace.

No sun's warmth, no moon's glow, just an empty space,

Colors, shapes, and light, all erased.

Sound, once a symphony, now a hollow echo,

The rustling leaves, the human screams, a requiem of woe.

All is silence, save for the hunger's relentless bellow,

A primal urge, a monstrous call, in the stillness, it does grow.

Touch, an echo of life, a memory of the past,

The icy chill of death, a sensation that will last.

Skin peels, flesh decays, in an image ghastly vast,

Once a vessel of warmth, now a relic of the past.

Taste, a savage ballet, on a crimson stage,

Blood and sinew, bone and gristle, fueling the rage.

Once savored sweet and sour, bitter and umami sage,

Now a singular craving, a beast in a cage.

Smell, a predatory guide, in this endless night,

The scent of fear, of warm life near, a beacon of blight.

Once inhaled the rain's freshness, the rose's delight,

Now the metallic tang of blood incites the fight.

Five senses, twisted and dark, in this undead plight,

A grotesque parody of life, in the moon's cold light.

Yet, in this monstrous existence, an ironic insight,

Even in death, we feel, we yearn, we recite.