The Last Words

In the weave of infinity,
threads of ancient light whisper,
echoes of the eternal flame,
flickering in the cosmic void.

"I am the genesis of silence,"
murmurs the fading luminary,
"a sigh in the void,
a tremor in the dark sea."

With each heartbeat, a supernova,
a stellar ballet on the edge of
a cataclysmic waltz,
where gravity weeps and stars dream.

"Remember me not as a relic,
but as the architect of dawns,
a celestial architect, weaving
the tapestry of what is to be."

Cross the constellations,
traverse the nebulous gardens,
through the Gateway of Nova
and the Cradle of Quanta.