It was once the centre of things—
a sun that gave names to shadows,
that warmed the bones of planets
and made time possible.
Now it glows
like memory does—
dim,
but refusing to go out.
There is no explosion.
No final flare.
Only the slow retreat
of light
into ash.
It will cool for billions of years.
Long after the Earth forgets itself,
long after we’ve stopped asking,
this ember will linger—
silent,
alone,
perfect in its endurance.
Not everything beautiful needs an audience.
Some things are simply
what the end looks like
when it takes its time.
Ryan Stone
Wonder Box: White Dwarfs
When a star like our Sun dies, it sheds its outer layers and leaves behind a core—a white dwarf. No longer powered by fusion, it shines only with leftover heat. Over trillions of years, it will cool into a black dwarf: cold, dark, and undetectable. None exist yet. The universe isn’t old enough.
This post is taken directly from my latest poetry chapbook – The Sky Well Fell Through – published this week on Amazon
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