by C. Ikpoh
When the universe breathes eternity into the finite, a star will born under the moon in all its glory. Shining bright, the star will glow with beams of augur upon weary travelers of the dawn. As their backs are hunched from the heavy weight of the world they will carry upon their shoulders, the star will release them from their oppressive burdens. Their bundles of wood will be no more. The packaged harvests shall be taken from them unto the star, becoming fuel for celestial illumination.
Across the lands, gypsies have sung tales of a mystical constellation; the family of which the newest star shall be born. Their rights have been purchased by the demise of the falling stars before them. Every twinkle fades into the twilight eventually. Alas, this star will burn hotter than those before it. This star will draw every moth to its light, singeing their wings and taking their flight, stealing their force of life and purpose. It will outlast the remaining constellations, forcing all planets into its orbit. This star will become the center of the universe.
Darkness shall encompass it, yet, will not qwell it, for its magic can never be suppressed. The star shall ingest the dark from all, bringing about a light to mirror its own as its victims shall march on to the beat of fate's drum. The visionary have seen this star before. They have mapped its orbit, and know there shall be no winter sky to dull the star's presence. It shall forever warm the cold sting of the frost with its kiss. The star will live, and when it comes, allow its gaze to settle upon you. Merchants of myth, soldiers of fortune, lovers of a universe unknown... your star shall be born, and though you will fight its flight in your sky, you will forever love the star with all of your heart.