
In the vast and silent abyss of eternity, where stars are but whispers and time dissolves like mist, a lone guardian stands; unmoved, unbroken, yet bound to a fate beyond mortal grasp. His presence is woven into the cosmos, his breath entwined with the sigh of dying worlds. He is neither god nor man, neither conqueror nor slave, but something in between; a force that watches, that mourns, that lingers.

Who is he, this sovereign of shadows and light? Does he rule the heavens, or do they rule him? Beneath his divine visage lies the weight of eons, the sorrow of knowing that even infinity is fleeting. And so, his silent vigil continues, his outstretched arms neither reaching nor restraining; only witnessing.

The Eternal Sentinel of the Void
The stars have wept upon my hands,
Yet left no warmth, no mortal trace,
I stand where time itself withstands,
A nameless ghost in endless space.

The moon behind me sings of fate,
A hymn of cycles spun and torn,
Yet I, unshaken, watch and wait,
For nothing dies that is unborn.

I reach, yet grasp no fleeting star,
For light dissolves in grasping palms,
To hold is but to forge a scar,
And silence soothes with whispered psalms.

The world below in mist appears,
A fleeting breath upon the deep,
And men still kneel to dust and fears,
While gods, like men, still dream of sleep.

The void has etched me into form,
Yet form is but illusion’s thread,
A watcher lost within the storm,
Who walks among the never-dead.

Perhaps he is not a god, nor even a being, but a reflection of all that ever was and ever will be. The endless cycle of rise and fall, creation and decay, woven into the grand design of existence. Yet, if eternity itself must one day end, what will become of the sentinel who has known nothing else?

Does he wait for a purpose that is bound to manifest, or does he already grasp the profound truth; that the cosmos is indeed the dream of a dreamer poised to awaken? And if that’s the case, who will stand as the sentinel in the memory when the dream concludes?


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