Scavenger of the stars and forger of worlds;
boatswain and keeper of the dead.
From nowhere you rise with wings in flight,
scouring endless cosmic deserts for atoms and blocks
to assemble worlds
and to set the clocks of life therein in motion.
The sun stands as your proudest opus,
built from eons of
scouring and incessant toil.
The ornament of gold
and testament to your mettle
dominates the stars and holds
in its hands the very fabric of existence.
Great as your success may be,
your work has only begun.
Countless worlds await creation, each atom
burning and trembling with the desire
By your hand they shall take form-
From nothing they will rise.