In a distant, solitary nebula,
within a slow-drifting cathedral of starstuff,
wreathed in crimson vapor and bathed in tidal blue flame,
a lonely star burned impossibly bright.
Its presence bent the will of the cosmos itself,
as gravity’s rainbow seduces with wiles
the delicately balanced strands
of its radiant, isolated heart.
It was circled by distant worlds—vibrant, teeming, and alive,
their continents waking beneath torrents of dazzling alien light.
Seas ignited in color no eye was meant to name,
skies trembled beneath a furnace as old as the memory of time.
The star turned through its unending epoch,
the final artifact of a resplendent dawn.
Even heaven—and some of hell—fell still,
subject to the dominion it held over all.
Its rays crossed the abyss in sacred procession,
light unspooling in vast geometries through the dark.
Planets gathered near, suspended in a devotion,
drawn into the deep well where distance shrank in starlight.
They moved like dancers guided by an unseen hymn,
their ancient ballet dissolving into prismatic fire,
their histories rewritten inside the spectrum of its tempest.
Together they drifted through the ocean of stars,
a communion without language or boundary.
Yet unease stirred beneath their orbits.
In a universe so immeasurable,
the planets wondered
whether such brilliance could ever belong
to anything at all,
or if they were only witnesses to a glory
destined always to remain beyond their reach.
For the cosmos is seldom kind.
Even the most radiant flames carry the architecture of ending.
Worlds that circle in longing may one day fall silent,
their oceans withdrawing into fossil memory,
their atmospheres dim with the ash of forgotten warmth,
regret settling like carbon snow upon their skies.
Deep within, the star’s heart shelters another fate,
a collapse inscribed in the language of its fire.
In a distant age, it will turn inward without mercy,
its brilliance folding into a sovereign darkness
where even light relinquishes escape.
Its horizon will widen like a wound in reality,
hunger extending across immeasurable gulfs,
a cosmic scar seared on the back of space and time,
a dark throne carved into the fabric of eternity.
But that hour lies hence, beyond the reckoning of worlds.
For now, the star endures, burning against eternity.
Across the jeweled kingdoms of the galaxy,
hope and sorrow walk together,
twin deities bound to the same sky.
For the universe keeps one ancient and unalterable truth:
every miracle is ephemeral, as every brilliance is doomed to dim.
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