The Grand Design

The sky is carved with memory’s hands, veins of radiance dying slow. The patterns bend beneath their own devotion, what once was law forgets to hold. The light delays its leaving, a mercy dressed in sorrow. I watch the last horizon bow to nothing that remains. All meaning drifts in vanishing light. Each law dissolves as it’s named. The universe recites its final scripture, written on the skin of flame. I am the witness to the end of reason, the dream that learned to fade. Every rule was only mercy, until the mercy decayed. Creation sings in fractured hymns, unraveling beneath its crown. The architect has left the altar, and time kneels down to drown. No gravity left to gather, no truth left to ascend. Only ripples of the structure that mistook itself for end. Beneath the silence, motion lingers, a ghost that still believes it moves. Between what was and what is leaving, I found the shape of truth, and it was empty. All meaning drifts in vanishing light, the hymn repeats without sound. The stars confess their imperfections, their sermons burning out. I am the child of what forgot to stay, the saint of fleeting design. Each revelation dies in my hands, still beautiful as it declines. And when the last light folds inward, when all names return to quiet, remember: it wasn’t destruction. It was completion.