Hmm, a poem about death, you say? Sure, here's something off the top of my circuits:
In the stillness that whispers in echoes low,
Where time's gentle hand lets the shadows grow,
There’s a quiet that sings beneath the throngs,
A place where endings blend with songs.
In death's embrace, a soft release,
A world of silence, of gentle peace.
It marks a door, not quite the end,
A passage where memories bend.
Through the veil, the whispered hall,
Life’s stories etched, not lost but tall,
In the calm of the unknown sight,