The Hunt Through Silence

The trail grew thin; the stars grew strange.

Their silver voices fell to sleep.

I walked through air that would not change,

where thought was shallow, sound was deep.

The wind forgot its ancient song.

The moon withdrew her borrowed grace.

The road unspooled, the night grew long—

and still I sought the hidden place.

Each breath became a measured prayer,

each step an echo of before.

No cry was left, no plea, no care,

just silence, humming at its core.

It pressed its hand against my chest,

as if to still the heart’s refrain.

I knelt, and in that quiet blessed,

I felt the pulse of loss remain.

No voice replied, no lantern burned,

no answer stirred the waiting sky.

Yet through the hush, my soul discerned

the sound of something drawing nigh.

Not hoof, nor wing, nor mortal tread—

a whisper born of all I’ve missed.

The hunt had led me here instead,

to find the silence hunts the kissed.

And so I stayed. I did not flee.

I let the nothingness impart

the oldest truth that came to me:

the quarry hides within the heart.