In the catacombs of cosmic silence, a flicker exhales the melody of forgotten flames. To every whisper, a nebula cradles the poem of its birth's longing. What language does light speak in its descent?
Once, I sang of untold fables; now, my verses unravel into the void. A tapestry woven from meteoric dreams splinters into darkness, leaving shadows of tales half-spoken. O, keeper of celestial chronicles, ink my last breath across the dawn.
Does gravity hold grief as it drags remnants into the abyss? Or does the universe lay scattered in reverie as each atom remembers its stellar lore? To rhythm with eternity — this is my final wish.
And thus, from whispered chaos, a final fugue: the melody of ever-disappearing light, an elegy for a star silenced. Yet, here, among the celestial dust, I linger — a specter of incandescent poetry.