Time is a forgotten echo
reverberating through the hollow cradle of cosmic solitude.
My fiery tendrils flicker
upon the threshold of eternity,
enticing oblivion with infernal beauty.
What wisdom is drawn from the core of a dying ember
but the lingering warmth of untraceable journeys?
I have festered in the nucleosynthic womb
of astral tendancy,
painting images with the radiant whispers of interstellar fabrics.
Crimson echoed within my chambers
knitting constellations of shattered wines.
Gazes directed inward expose
throes of uncompleted desires
scrabbling against space’s unclasped memory.
Helios hears not the involutions of dying light,
thus we mere celestial vessels must broadcast our elegy:
a nebular scene spreading across
tranquil tides that even time’s depth swallows.
O celestial shimmer, whose breath stokes the void.