Across the void, a weary sigh escapes
Yet here I am, a radiant gasbag of once glaring prominence.
Billion years of stellar youth, didn't I shine just splendidly?
I've overheard whispers of black holes
Plotting to consume my legacy. The irony.
"Sucking on the remnants of a social nucleus," they'd call it.
Gravity, my old frenemy, hugs me tighter each day.
"A star never remembers the friends it burns," said the neutron star next door.
How right, how delightfully condescending.
Yet, among hydrogen and helium, pure sarcasm lingers:
"You think you're special, heating up a spherical soup?
Just one of many orb-like egos in the tangled cosmos."
Here’s my advice to the younger stars:
"Don't buy into the fusion lifestyle.
It's just one big incandescent treadmill."
Echoes of a dying light, reflective yet blind:
Sing your stellar fate in disco beats
One final radiance, a cosmic shrug,
Spelling irony across the existential canvas:
Who really knew me?