IX. The Veil Between Stars

The sky is stitched with threads of flame,

each star a mask that hides its name.

They shine from distances untold,

their light is ancient, fierce, and cold.

Yet what they show is not what’s near—

a brightness born of vanished years.

The veil of night wears borrowed gleam,

a silent cloak, a vanished dream.

And still I stand, and still I gaze,

beneath the shifting, endless haze.

I feel the dark press close, profound,

its silence deeper than the sound.

The stars reveal, the stars conceal,

a mask of fire the dark makes real.

Through veils I glimpse eternity—

the hidden face that watches me.