Is there a voice upon the stars, echoes lost in cosmic dance?
A whisper that shimmers on the strands of light, coiled in nebulae,
Tending to celestial fires, igniting dreams adrift in space.

They say the silence speaks with fervor, a song of photon waves,
Transmissions fractured by the aeons, found wrapped in astral mist.
Listen closely, the void murmurs tales of stardust sandcastles,
Roaming planets with moonlight eyes, sprinkling silver upon dusk.

Do you feel them—those transient echoes?
The lilts of ancient comets, troubadours of the twilight,
Bound by gravity to serenade the spirals.
One tune recalls a forgotten pulse, a heart among the burning seas,
Glowing softly, a pearl in a shell of luminous darkness.

Evoked are the spirits of forgotten orbs, wandering whisper-walkers,
With every flicker of the quasars, dreams reintegrate into spectra.
Are we not fragments, too, from tales unspun,
Searching for oracles written on the astral scrolls?
In cosmic libraries, where silence is both guardian and scribe,
Chained to light years but free in the depths of a wish.