Once upon a time, somewhere beneath the quasar's reach,
A cauldron stirred in darkness—two swirling galaxies in refrain.
Amongst the phantom spices of time's forgotten whisks,
Awash in the luminescent broth were echoes of stories perhaps untold.
"Stir gently," murmured the ancient, cloaked in starfire and steam,
To a chaos of particles longing for form—creation's longing embrace.
The comforting heat radiated, reminiscent of newborn stars’ glow—
Tales spun from. the ashes of cosmic bedsheets left in disarray.