Narrator: On the Edge
In the stretch of endless night,
beyond the limits of our mortal sight,
there lies a symphony of radiant beams,
where silence hums and starlight dreams.
The universe’s language, strange and vast,
ticks through the cosmos, a clockwork past.
Its echo vibrates in the void’s embrace,
between the spinning planets, time and space.
Does not the pulse of a pulsar sing,
or the quasar’s dance in its luminous ring?
Does not the wind of solar flares
send waves to the Earth, unawares?
Each comet’s trail, a fleeting phrase,
each constellation, a story ablaze.
The universe speaks, if one knows how to hear,
its tongue made of light, yet words insincere.
The Astropoetnaut stood on the edge of the known,
a voyager of thought, through realms yet unshown.
“Do the stars converse, or do we project?
Do they answer, or simply reflect?”
The grounded person’s logic pressed,
but the Astropoetnaut’s heart could not rest.
“If the universe is silent, then let me create—
let me wonder its whispers, let me narrate.”
For who is to say what the stars would proclaim,
if not for poets who give them a name?
Perhaps, in the vastness, the voice we hear
is not the stars, but our own hopes and fears.
Yet, in their quiet glow, there’s a truth profound:
that we, too, are stars, earthbound.
WoPoLi 
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