VIII. The Silence of Stars

The heavens open, vast with voiceless fire,

their silver tongues too distant to be heard.

Each star a witness, ancient with desire,

yet speaking not a single mortal word.

The dark between them hums with something near,

a presence closer than the blazing flame.

It gathers silence into shapes we hear,

and whispers through the emptiness a name.

So light is far, a brilliance long since gone,

yet still it touches hearts across the deep.

And dark is close, a breath we lean upon,

a tender veil that cradles us in sleep.

Thus stars confess what silence always knows:

that night itself is where the spirit grows.