Beneath midnight’s ancient dome,
Where silent stars in darkness roam,
Earth keeps secrets locked in stone,
Of ash that once was flesh and bone.

Great mountains kneel to dunes of sand,
Time’s sculptor carves with patient hand.
Old empires fall, and seasons fade,
Yet life persists, unbowed, remade.

At twilight’s hush, the world gives way,
A vault of shadows, light’s decay.
Each triumph and loss, each birth and death,
Are echoes in the vast cosmos’ breath.

Thus we stand on time’s endless stage,
Both moth and flame, the ink and page.
The world’s chaos, a ceaseless tide,
Where joy and anguish coincide.

Eternal sifts the hourglass sand,
The past dissolves in fate’s cold hand.
We are but embers of the stars,
Brief flickers in time’s iron bars.

The comet’s arc, the planet’s spin,
Are reflections of fire within.
So with each blow, the anvil sings—
We forge our lives on iron wings.

Step boldly where the stars align,
And let your spirit burn divine.
Forbid the weight of eons passed
To chain your heart or hold it fast.

We’ll take the world with open hands,
Embrace its wild, untamed demands.
The dance is brief, the night is long—
Yet in the dark, we find our song.

So press your palm to molten stone,
And shape the world where seeds are sown.
Be not the puppet, cut the strings—
Let your spirit unfurl its wings.