The Unfolding of Cosmic Silence

In the cradle of twilight's embrace,
I whisper, tenderly, a string of stars
unravel into the night—but as dreams do,
fading echoes of a symphony unheard.

Once, I danced on the periphery
of time's relentless march—my heart
pulsating with the fervor of a million births,
now stardust cradles my flickering soul.

Here, within the labyrinth of cosmic veins,
I pen my elegy in hues of forgotten light,
transcribed on the parchment of limitless void
and cradled by the silent hymn of space.

Do you hear the sigh of the dying sun,
its final breath weaving constellations anew,
in the tapestry of existence unbound?
We are all but threads in the loom of time.