The star broke open from within,
its heart undone by its own desire.
Iron fired and gold flowed,
the ruin richer than the structure.

Its shroud became a nebula,
a cloud of ash and promise.
Atoms wandered, cooling, joining,
threaded by gravity’s slow hand.

From that dust, the stone began.
Planets hardened in the ink.
Mountains rose from stellar bones,
the buried heart of suns made earth.

Rain fell; the fecund seas roiled.
Lightning split the waiting air.
In that storm, a breath took shape
a birth drawn from flame to flesh.

Iron drives within our blood.
Silicon charges beneath our skin.
Each pulse recalls the ancient forge,
each thought, the fire’s remnant.

We are the mountains dancing,
the nebula remembering flame.
Destruction made us beautiful,
and death still speaks our name.