SCI-FI/FANTASY Poem: Architect of Whispers by Presley Long

In the Starlace Vaults where futures hum,
my life spins in algorithmic silk,
every path I might’ve walked,
rendered in glass-coated thread.

I danced alone
on the edge of a dying star,
sending light poems
to forgotten satellites.

They called me “the Whisper Architect”
because I built symphonies
from gravitational echoes.
I never touched another soul,
but the stars wept with me nightly.

And now I stand in the chamber
where the soul must choose,
one path to burn into being.
All others dissolve
into data mist,
ungrieved.

They ask me which I’ll keep.
The mother? The martyr? The monk?

No.
I choose the version
that loved the void
and made it sing.