Billions have staked their futures on her
But she is dying
The death of a hundred billion cuts.
Poisoned slowly in the wastes of her own entrails
Roasted on a low fire
Gasping for breath in an atmosphere of unknown gases
While her killers bicker over what remains.
Aeons of patient craft, slow shaping, intricate artistry
Erased in the blinking of a geological eye.
The stars look on, and weep.
Elsewhere, another star is born.