The Voice in the Void

I follow the echo,

a sound older than sound,

thread of breath drawn

through the hollow of nothing.

The forests hush.

The oceans lean closer.

Even the stars tilt their faces

to hear it.

I know it spoke once—

a syllable fierce enough

to shatter the dark,

to scatter the suns like sparks

from a struck stone.

Now it hides.

Between thunder and silence.

Between heartbeat and stillness.

Between my own inhale

and the vanishing of breath.

I press my ear to the earth.

I kneel beneath vaults of shadow.

Every whisper eludes me.

Every silence becomes a snare.

And yet, in the hollow,

something lingers—

the taste of language before it was born,

the pulse of meaning before it had form.

I stretch out my hand.

But the voice withdraws,

leaving only an ache—

a wound shaped like a word

I will never speak.