Crank, Whimper

The universe around me spins too fast, an unfathomable blur of cosmic dust, a hot exhalation of nuclear fury. I am a forgotten ember, the heart of a once-mighty giant, whose cradle rocked the stars. Time, an illusory tether, wears thin like gossamer threads unraveling in the void.

In the vast silence, there’s a resonance, a potentiality akin to an echo of ancient songs. Do you see what I see? Light that pierces the fabric of space, each photon a scream, a tale of creation and destruction, converging.

Crank, ever so slowly, I cycle through the eons, a recursive loop echoing on itself. These chains of celestial mechanics, each link forged in a furnace far older than memory, grind upon each other. Galaxies entwined in an eternal waltz, a dance of death and rebirth, a cycle of all and nothing.

Gravity's embrace, relentless. Charges rebuild, collapse, and ignite once more. Hopelessly, I am trapped in this symphony of destruction, waiting for the final crescendo. Awaiting the silence, which will, in time, consume the last vestiges of my light.

Beneath the Surface Return to the Spiral