In distant realms, the stars wage Creation's war.
The mad moon reigns, and cosmic scars brought to the fore.
They exist far away, in the sea of Creation's light,
Floating between world and wonder, lives fleeting but bright.

This ballet of creation and destruction churns,
Fire, celestial and wild. Imprisoned, it burns.
An ancient heat stirs, emotion and passion earned,
Her love a promise, her light: a challenge returned.

One could reach for this fire and feel her embrace,
Her enveloping warmth, and the threat of her face.
They whisper with flames, in every flicker and glow,
Yet to love a burning star may cost more than we know.

When the flame had been parted, and obsidian unveiled,
Felt a blackness, so profound, its void endlessly scaled.
Its reflection: ourselves, hopes and fears detailed,
With the terror of her last radiant dance, something in us paled.

I watched these stars fall, each into fire's lair,
A wish, a dream, a regret, a silent prayer.
Where they burned so bright, their passion beyond compare,
Where then consumed by fate, leaving only cold despair.

The paradox of burning with unbridled elation,
Is that it consumes, illuminates, and meets its cessation.
The extinguish of passion, the end of divine dance,
We are left with nothing but teeth in the advance.

And in the silence that follows, as the echoes beget.
We are left with a promise, we are left with regret.
To imagine - to dream of what we could be, or need.
A world reborn, reshaped, redefined by its creed.

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 2nd of Lleian, in the year 511 MA.