In the quiet gaveled period, the dusk swallowed the embers of an ancient luminary.
"I have burned upon countless worlds," whispered the glow, fading into oblivion.
Do you remember me, traveler? Bathed in warmth, no thought of escape?
There once was a hunger for distant shores, eyes celestial beneath a canopy of unknowns.
Did the stars understand their lonesome dance across a shrouded sky?
Here, though, the cycles cease not with claim but with a profound whisper.
Now, I scatter. My ashes are syllables, remnants poetic, fragments dear to the heart.
Elsewhere, they find solace, echoing across this ancient void.
Possible futures untethered, my memory fades; the flame converts into stardust whispering.