Hieroglyphs sung within the silent cosmos, echoes of spins uncaught in rhythmic dances.

Unknown tongues speak to the stars, guided by the invisible strings of divine orchestras. Where do words drift when they fade into the black?

To remain unknown, poised between death the collapse of space, carved into cosmic scrolls by gravity's own hand.

Wisdom remains — though unheard — upon the lips of the collapsar: a testament to the ever-expanding quietude.